


Acheronta Movebo

by InterstellarToaster



Series: Tiny Fandoms [3]
Category: Diablo (Video Game), Diablo II, Diablo III
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arson, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Gaslighting, Gender-Neutral Character, Implied Relationships, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Malthael is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Mental Health Issues, Minor Original Character(s), Occasional fluff, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other, POV First Person, Road Trip Where I Drive the Car Off a Cliff, Road Trips, Scents & Smells, Tragedy/Comedy, Tragic Romance, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 03:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 61,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarToaster/pseuds/InterstellarToaster
Summary: Act One: After the destruction of the Worldstone and the disappearance of Malthael, the High Heavens are left in disarray. Malthael's chief lieutenant Urzael teams up with former chief lieutenant Aerael, to try and find their lost master in the mortal realm of Sanctuary. But, will they be able to bring Malthael home? Or is it fated that they will never return?Act Two: Malthael has returned, but his lieutenants fracture under his command. What will become of Sanctuary when the Angel of Death passes judgement?Act Three: The End of Days has come to pass. A Void lingers, and the remnants of regret weigh heavy. From the rubble of Westmarch, a champion emerges.





	1. Da Capo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...But Malthael was my lord and master, and I owed him at least that much. I owed him at least the attempt, just as he owed me..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da Capo: _From the beginning_
> 
>  
> 
> How to pronounce Aerael: Aye-erh-aye-al  
> Title meaning: If I cannot bend the will of the Heavens, I will move Hell

...And, at the End of Days, Wisdom shall be lost  
as Justice falls upon the world of men.  
Valor shall turn to Wrath -  
and all Hope will be swallowed by Despair.  
Death, at last, shall spread its wings over all -  
as Fate lies shattered forever.  
...  
_Sound familiar?_

 

 

 

 

 

_"I must go, my love. The Worldstone is in danger, as is the entire realm."_

_"You'll come back," I told him, voice pitched low, my forehead leaning against his. I reached a hand up to the side of his neck, giving it a firm squeeze, "You must."_

_"I would dream of nothing else," He promised. I smiled, just a little, bittersweet but trusting as I dropped my hand to his chest._

_"Farewell," I inclined my head, and Tyrael nodded, taking the hint as he quickly unfurled his radiant wings and stepped backwards. He stared at me for but a moment, and then took off into the air, a blur of motion. I watched him fly away with a fond shake of the head, and only a few gentle stirrings of worry in my soul. There was work to be done, always work to be done, and so I turned and left for the Training Ground, Tyrael's promise clasped tightly to my chest. He was my eternal companion, I reminded myself. With our souls bound together, even death would have been hard pressed to separate us._

 

 

 

 

 

... _The High Heavens, Ten Years After the Destruction of the Worldstone_...

 

"Strike formation!" I commanded. The recruits fell in line quickly, spears butting the ground, my stare leveled. Without a word, I began to pick apart every single stance. No matter where I looked, I found a flaw. Legs spread too far, shoulders hunched, spear going in the entirely wrong direction. But still, that wasn't what bothered me the most. No, for towards the far end of the line, I could hear whispering, a pair of pitched voices that tried to hide behind sloppy poses. My face slipped into a terse frown. 

"Arius, Volael!" I barked. The voices stopped instantly, but I still stalked towards them, "Care to share your topic of conversation?" 

A tense, guilty silence laid over the pair.

"We were talking about Lord Malthael!" Arius finally blurted out. I let out a huff of annoyance, smothering the _twitch twitch_ of my forlorn heart.

"And if he were here, he'd be even more critical of your stance than I am. Plant your feet!" I commanded, voice firm with reproach. They quickly scrambled to comply, and a lesser solider would have missed the snide comment, exactly six paces to my left.

_"Malthael and Aerael, sittin' in a tree..."_

I _snapped_ around. Total silence dominated the area, not even the usual gust of the wind wrapping around pillars to be heard. The offending recruit stared at me with a startled expression. Fear, the most obvious, as I stormed towards them. Legs too close, weapon not ready. Sloppy. In but a moment, I swept out a leg, slamming my arm into their shoulder and tossing them to the ground.

"If I can take you down so quickly, a demon will have an even easier time," I hissed. And perhaps my anger was misdirected, but the stupid human song still rung in my ears, the mocking melody that burned me. I didn't hate the mortals, no simmering fire inside me, but I hated the reminders, the knowledge of a loss that I just couldn't shake. My anger leeched out of my frame, and I forced myself to calm.

"Practice your stances for tomorrow!" I stated, receiving anxious salutes, before the entire battalion flew away to their next lesson, and I was left alone. Alone, the courtyard around me, desperately empty. I still caught myself looking to my flank, searching for the man I knew was gone. 

_"Tyrael and Aerael, sitting in a tree..."_

_"Aerael, my love, must you sing that infernal song?"_

_"Why don't you come here and shut me up then, hm?"_

I blinked the memories away, and scrubbed stubbornly at my eyes with the back of a hand. Ridiculous mortal songs, didn't make any sense. One of the recruits likely overheard me singing it to Tyrael and now it's just stuck, like a bad plague– just like all mortal things, I supposed. Apathy took the place of anger, and I was left standing there, staring.

"Is this a bad time?" A voice asked from somewhere nearby, unobtrusive but solid. I shook my head, dislodging memories that still clung like tree sap.

"Nay, Urzael, never," I smiled. Urzael had been one of my top students, long ago. That he had surpassed me in my absence and taken the rank of Chief Lieutenant to Wisdom was a matter of great pride. Despite the difference in rank, our friendship still remained. 

"I spoke with the Angiris Council again," He stated, taking a seat beside me on the ground. I snorted, unrefined sound that still danced in the air. 

"Did they tell you to wait again?" 

A telling silence. 

"This time their excuse was the humans," Urzael huffed, as I rolled my eyes, though I soon wrapped a friendly arm around his shoulder. We both pretended we didn't hurt, but I wasn't sure what hurt worse; The fact that the Worldstone was gone, for the _mortals_ , or the simple truth that Tyrael had chosen them instead of us. Was it selfish? Irrevocably. But still, the feelings persisted.

"Well, that's better than last time, at least!" I nudged. Last time had been the excuse of _Tyrael_ , and our bitter smiles almost matched. 

"You should come next time," Urzael suggested, and I had already prepared a variety of excuses, just ready to be said and begged off with. _The recruits need training_ , which wouldn't be wrong. _The Conservatory requires my aid_ , which wasn't quite lying.

Then, I stopped. Why was I even bothering to try and pretend now? I had no excuse for not wishing to go. None, except for the way their looks of pity grated on me, comforting words that meant nothing. Malthael had understood, but Anu knew where he was now. Lost, perhaps, or simply didn't want to be found, the destruction of the Worldstone sending him fleeing into the dark. Briefly, I wondered at why he hadn't taken us with him, but banished that thought. Excuses still hovered in my mind, and I reached out to grasp one, any would do.

"Okay," I decided, surprising even myself, the truth just drifting out on the breeze, "You're right."

Urzael lit up, "Excellent! My next session, we shall go together. They cannot ignore us both."

No, they couldn't. But a part of me still wished to be ignored, and forgotten, least I get too close again, least I have to endure the soon inevitable first meeting with a new Justice and pretend it wasn't tearing me up inside.

But Malthael was my lord and master, and I owed him at least that much. I owed him at least the attempt, just as he owed me.

 

 

 

_"Recruits! Attack formation!"_  
_They fell into line quickly._  
_"Excellent, mo–"_  
_I never got to finish my sentence, before I was suddenly writhing on the ground. The only thought that flashed in my mind was that this must be what dying feels like._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most prominently featured headcanons: Wisdom cannot lie, and Wisdom (Wisdom's lieutenants) has/have enhanced sense of _smell_. To go along with this, Justice gets _taste_ , Hope has _touch_ , Valor gets _hearing_ , and Fate has _sight_.  
>  This story follows the canon as closely as possible, with several liberties taken for a smoother story. For instance, how Urzael found Malthael in Sanctuary is never explained, so I extrapolated.


	2. Vivace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Hall was still as radiant as the last time I had been in it, and Anu's light still shone brightly, a beacon of life for all to see. But, there were shadows in the room, things that hid in corners and out of sight..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vivace: _Play in a lively or brisk manner_

I walked into the High Council Hall with a chip on my shoulder, and the firm knowledge that my presence beside Urzael would change nothing in their decision. After all, it had already been so many years, what would I make different? 

Besides, I was missing out on a training session for this. 

And yet, that didn't help calm the unease inside me. The Hall was still as radiant as the last time I had been in it, and Anu's light still shone brightly, a beacon of life for all to see. But, there were shadows in the room, things that hid in corners and out of sight. There was a Tyrael shaped space to the left, and a Malthael shaped space to the right, and we walked right past without a single traitorous word. 

"Ready?" Urzael asked, voice pitched low to me, a light wing ghosting my side. I subtly flicked his arm with my own wing, and then we were in the Meeting Chamber, and everything stopped.

"The Angiris Council will hear you," a voice boomed. Urzael and I bowed low, and I forced the air out of my chest, least my mouth open on its own accord, to scream and demand answers. Calm.

"Rise," A gentle voice commanded, and so we rose. Urzael's expression was stoical, and mine was blank, eyes staring directly forward. 

"We come to plead your permission to begin a search for Lord Malthael," Urzael stated, and at that moment he easily looked the part of a Chief Lieutenant. He'd been trained well. The silence of the room returned, and it filled the room with an infuriating air. I used to enjoy the silence, but after an eternity of it, the taste was ashen, like I was waiting for other pin to drop. 

"No," Imperius decided, succinct.

And suddenly, I understood why Urzael wanted me beside him, as my tightly controlled anger lashed outwards, snapped.

"He is your brother," I growled, "and our Lord. We have a right to find him. We have the right to try."

Imperius stared down at me in surprise. Oh, he didn't show it, but the slight twitch of his wings gave him away, so long as you knew where to look. 

"Aerael?" _There_ was the surprise, masked by a commanding tone, there one moment and gone the next, "Your words hold a certainty of belief. Do you both truly believe you could find him?"

"Undoubtedly," Urzael stated. I could feel the conviction in his tone, the sheer force behind his words, the _with shield or on it_ belief that stirred armies, the voice of Lieutenant through and through. Imperius, Auriel, and Itherael were silent once more, convening to one another undoubtably. I let my eyes drift to the space reserved for Justice, and Wisdom, and I prayed.

"You have our permission," Auriel decreed, smiling, graceful as ever, "We will give you command of an entire battalion of angelic maidens to aid in your search." 

I blinked away the surprised shock, but evidently not well enough, as Itherael gave me a knowing look. 

"An entire battalion of angelic maidens," Urzael whispered beside me. Personally trained by Auriel, even a single angelic maiden would be enough to face off against several demons. An entire battalion could level armies. 

"The Wisdom Sect will accompany you," Auriel explained, and it made sense, the maidens most loyal to Malthael would follow our search. 

"My eternal gratitude," I thanked, leaning back down on one knee, Urzael stepping down beside me, our heads bowed low. Auriel's face flickered with a distant grief.

"It is the least I could do, Aerael," Auriel smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, and I politely ignored the pity once again. Urzael noticed it, though, and shuffled once. Enough that Auriel coughed demurely, and bid us up once more.

"Return victorious," Imperius commanded, and at that Urzael and I left, the vast Chamber behind us with a flapping of wings. When the warm sunlight hit our faces, that was when Urzael turned and grabbed me, pulling me into a grateful embrace that forced us to touchdown. 

"I knew we could do it!" He declared, beaming brighter than the sun, "And we did!"

"Yes, but where do we begin our search?" I reminded, though I didn't resist the arms around me, allowing myself the comfort as I grasped back. Urzael always smelled of leather, and a winter's wind. Some things never changed. 

"Burning Hells," Urzael cursed, pulling back a little so that we had a half space in between us. He dropped his head, hood obscuring his frustration, "I only have a few ideas, but they could take us years to look through."

Urzael let out a full body huff, and I pulled him down to the cloud level, tucking our legs together in an unprofessional and wholly comfortable manner. He was my friend, I decided petulantly, we could sit however we pleased. Our knees bumbled together, and I leaned forward.

"Malthael once told me about the humans," I began, voice low, like it was some great secret, and perhaps it was, "He spoke of them curiously, at length."

And I could remember it too, clear in my mind, the tilt of his head as he spoke. It felt so long ago. I missed him greatly. 

"The humans? That would mean," Urzael trailed off. I fluffed a wing around his back, returning his attention.

"Sanctuary," He whispered, a revelation in his tone. 

"The mortal realm," I nodded, letting my hood fall over my eyes, "Our best option is there."

"The journey will take some time, but we must begin our search soon!" Urzael shouted, and sounded positively delighted, tumbling backwards in a mess of wing fluff. I gave a surprised squawk, as graceful as ever, and fanned my own wings outwards. But soon, his excitement became infectious, and I allowed myself to be drawn in, until my soul swelled with it and I felt hope for the first time in a decade. I heard a hearty laugh, and was surprised to realize it came from me, and suddenly we were both laughing, clutching each other, because we had a chance now.

Perhaps I had the right of it.

 

 

                                                            _We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor . . ._  
             When I say this, it should mean laughter,  
not poison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aerael u can't like just ignore ur depression  
> Whoops  
> There they go  
> Ignoring it super hard


	3. In Rilievo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Westmarch crawled over the horizon, the deep echo of the ocean drawn behind it, and we landed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Rilievo: _The musical notation that indicates a particular instrument to play slightly louder than the others so as to stand out over the ensemble._

It was winter when we entered the mortal realm of Sanctuary. The sight of the snow blanketing the realm was novel, and we allowed ourselves the briefest of time in basking. The angelic maidens took up the rear, and there was the single shining moment when total silence enveloped us, the slight whistling of wind, and the fields of white that stretched for eternity. And just like that, the moment was gone, and we were on our way again. In the darkness of the night, every tiny town or small hamlet we passed looked exactly the same. If I hadn't come here before ( _with Tyrael, for Tyrael_ ) I would hardly know where to start. But I had, and here I was.

"This is Westmarch," I announced, the city as vast and sprawling as it had been on my last visit. I could see the ocean outwards, great waves on cliffs, some siren song that tried to beckon us closer. Urzael made a curious noise.

"It seems so small," He noted, gazing intently down.

"If I recall, this is the largest one," I stated, some small and petty part of me pleased at the knowledge, "It matters not. Malthael may be here, or somewhere around here. We might as well start here."

"There's still so many of them," Urzael stared, eyeing the smallest of specks that made up the humans. And I could see what he meant, but I couldn't shake the imagery of bugs skittering across my armor, the way the humans seemed to swarm and burrow in exactly the same way. Tyrael had thought the mortals worthy of praise, though, so I owed him the civility, owed him the benefit of the doubt and an open mind. Perhaps, find out why Malthael was so curious about humanity.

We flew towards the mountains, passing by forests and rivers, beauty of nature that won points in Sanctuary's favor. The mountains stood tall enough to be imposing, to discourage mortal curiosity. The largest of the mountains boasted an aged stone fortress, an abandoned monastery. We touched down there, onto the cobblestones, chipped by the elements yet still resilient. A quick glance could find no evidence of human life.

"Maidens, please, remain here," I commanded. The sect of angels all made noises of agreement, spreading out amongst the ruined monastery. They would wait for however long we needed. At that, Urzael and I made our way to the courtyard, the snow drifting inwards past us. The night sky was crystalline, the wind crisp and biting. Urzael's wing jolted me out of my thoughts, and only afterwards did I realize I hadn't even been paying attention. 

"I'm sorry, my mind was dimensions away," I smiled, letting my shoulders drop. Urzael left his wing wrapped over my shoulder, a small comfort.

"I was saying that we should don our mortal forms if we are to walk among them," Urzael suggested. Mortal forms, ah. 

"Of course, you're right," and I stepped away, into the snow and the ice and the wind so cold that it forced all over thoughts from my mind. I stilled, centering, until the familiar illusions settled around me and I opened my eyes. Looking down was not the first mistake, not by far, but it was a mistake. The frozen pond, surface reflecting up at me, I saw a flash of dark hair and dark eyes and suddenly I was gone, centuries and centuries past, standing in a dark alley, city by the sea, cobbled streets and stone walls, a red banner that caught the eye, as I pulled Tyrael in with me and our lips met, a warm sensation, but it was all wrong because he was mine, but not here, not— 

And suddenly I was in the snow, Urzael beside me, half-formed words stuck in my lungs, apologies to people long dead. With brutal efficiency, I forced myself into silence, the words like bile that sat in my throat. I extracted myself and rose up off the freezing ground, like nothing had happened, and I my illusion for one with bright hair, unassuming yet solid features, something forgettable in a land of humans. Someone might look at me and remember someone they once knew, but nothing beyond that, flicker of memory.

Urzael stared at me for a moment, an understanding glance that made me curious. I narrowed my gaze briefly, but he had already looked away, swapping his radiant angelic form into that of an unmemorable mortal. He was easy on the eyes, the sort of look a soldier would have, old before his time, black hair tussled by the fierce winds around us. He almost reminded me of Tyrael. Almost. 

"To Westmarch," I said, sloughing miserable feelings off into the snow. Our wings reappeared a moment after that, golden and pale, and we took off into the sky. 

We flew, weaving past one another, diving through clouds and riding the winds. The night sky turned to dawn, radiant and beautiful, the kind of colors that made me wish for home. Urzael looked at the mortal realm in abject fascination, marveling at natural structures, the simplicity of it. I appreciated it too, in a distant sort of way, but I reserved most of my appreciated for the sea. (After an eternity of Pandemonium, and barren wasteland, the idea of such vast bodies of water tickled me. If Tyrael were with me, I'd undoubtably drag him to it with me, wheedling him to stay until hours likely turned to days, and our assignments were forgotten.)

But, we had to look for Malthael, I reminded. I pushed the uncomfortable allure to the back of my mind, and focused on the other things. 

Westmarch crawled over the horizon, the deep echo of the ocean drawn behind it, and we landed. The wings disappeared, falling up into the air, and then we looked just like any other humans. I turned to Urzael, opened my mouth, and– made a choked, surprised sound. It might have been laughter. It might have been a dying elk.

"Your hair," I managed to get out, and it was true, an unfortunate truth, that his hair had taken the brunt of our journey without any sort of doubt. Who knew that high powered winds could do such a thing.

Ha.

Urzael swiped at his hair, demanding obedience, but all he achieved was somehow making it worse. I stepped forward, swatting his hands away lightly.

"Hold still," I rolled my eyes, smoothing the hair back into place. There was a comfortable silence, and I decided to ruin it, because I was awful.

"Be on your guard," I informed, bringing my hands forward while I tried to smooth out an annoying curl on the side, "They are as cunning as a demon, and as subtle as one of us."

"Their powers are sealed, surely they are no harm," Urzael snorted. I slanted my eyes, and in a moment my hand was on his neck, a dagger pressed under his chin. Urzael made a surprised sound.

" _Our_ powers are sealed, and yet I was able to do this," I reminded, annoyance flickering in my voice. There was a beat of silence before I stepped back, handing him the dagger, smoothing down his hair as an afterthought. 

"Of course, Aerael," He choked out, still breathless, aware that I was once his teacher for a reason. And, it would be a cold day in the Burning Hells when I lost my skill.

The gates to Westmarch were only a two minute walk away. I tried to maintain a hopefully optimistic demeanor, but I could feel the wheel of fate turning, a part of my soul still remembered, and I knew that nothing good would come of Westmarch. _Fire_ , it supplied, _and death_. Well, that wasn't good, but least that would be interesting. 

"Halt!" A guard shouted, a beat of silence, "State your business!"

"We're travelers," Urzael replied. The guard grumbled something, staring intently down, before sighing.

"Don't cause any trouble now," the guard frowned, before heaving the gate open, and we entered. The city was as majestic as I remembered, those cobbled streets, red banners waving. Humans crowded, in buildings and on streets, in the light and in dark alleys. 

"Malthael's scent lingers in the air," I blinked, glancing around, "It is not fresh, but it is here."

"I wonder what he saw," Urzael muttered, looking at the rising buildings of stone. I held back my frown, and nudged Urzael along. 

We walked. Urzael's awestruck expression soon dissolved into a wary trepidation. We walked until noon, the sun high in the sky, and the unpleasant of humanity tickling my nose. Sewers, I decided, were the work of Diablo. But still, better than it had been before. We ambled past a dark alley, and a weak voice called out.

"Please, spare some coin," A beggar called out. Urzael's head turned, and I could already see him reaching for his coinpouch. But a flicker of shadow caught my eye, and I stepped back, hand on his arm.

"No," I tugged at the edge of his sleeve, "Watch."

We sat on a bench, and watched as another citizen leaned down to put some coin into the pot. While they were distracted, the beggar's companion grabbed the citizen's coin bag, and ran off. Urzael's face twisted. I was struck by the urge to defend them, but nothing came of it, and I was left standing, a hand in the air. I frowned, then shook my head, and shouldered Urzael along.

We passed by three more beggars on our way to the town center. In that time, two of the beggars were fakes, and while the other was genuine, his plight was ignored by his brethren. To him, we gave as much as we could spare, but Urzael's troubled expression didn't budge an inch. Arriving at the town center was almost a relief.

"Are all humans like that?" He asked, a little lost. I shook my head, a small spark of defiance, trying to defend Tyrael's choice.

"No, it's just..." I stopped myself, fishing out the words, and continued without missing a beat, "It's the life of a human."

We walked past a missing persons wall. Urzael planted his feet, and his eyes went wide, taking the poster of a child no more than six. Kidnapped, missing, reward. I glanced at it and knew, the knowledge burned into my mind, that the child would not be found, and there was a deep screeching in my soul that clamored for Justice. In the way of the jaded, I smothered the sound, and ignored it. 

Urzael's face paled, and I knew that _he_ knew as well. Wisdom was not kindness. 

"Is there nothing we can do?" Urzael said aloud, hand curled into a fist, the other gripping the paper so tight it crumbled.

"We shouldn't interfere," I replied, but it didn't sound so sure anymore, a warble to the edge of it. We shouldn't interfere. We just needed to find Malthael. I carefully took the poster from Urzael's hands and put back on the wall. We left in a traitorous silence, and the sun began to descend. 

We walked for some time, and thankfully there was no more incidents. The inn was close, and enter we did, making our way to the counter past the scent of mead and iron. Underneath, I could smell leather and aged parchment. Malthael had been here. I wondered if he had seen the things we saw too. 

"One room," I said. The barkeep was married, but that didn't stop a glance in my direction. Not exactly striking, in human terms, nowhere near as beautiful as Tyrael had been. 

"For you, it's free," A fair smile, but the edges were pulled, the briefest hint of leer and desire. Ugh, mortals.

"I'll pass," I replied, chilled, and placed the required silver onto the countertop. The barkeep made a disappointed noise, but took the silver nonetheless. I placed one extra silver down, "I'm looking for a man who might have come through here. Dark leather, lanky, about this tall."

The barkeep pocketed the silver, "A month back, someone like that came through here. Left for Bramwell a week later. Why, you family?"

"You could say that."

"I could tell," and there was that leer again, this time directed over the both of us. Urzael tensed like a cobra, but the barkeep didn't notice. 

"Room three, up the stairs. Here's the key. Have fun," With a flirty wink, the key was in my hand, and we were away, Urzael and I up the stairs and hurrying into the room. I locked the door behind us.

"What in the Burning Hells," Urzael demanded, turning to me like I had the answers. 

"Humanity," I reminded, "It's just how they are," The argument sounded weak even to my ears. 

Urzael began to pace, bunching his hands up.

"They have been given a choice between good and evil," Urzael growled, "And yet, overwhelmingly, they choose evil!"

"This is just one city," I quelled, both to myself and to him, "There will be others. Better cities, hopefully, better people."

"Lord Malthael came through here," Urzael sighed, as we sat down on the rickety bed and bumped knees. Humans always smelled of rust, but Malthael's scent was still heavy in the air, like a blanket of home if one knew where to look. 

"We'll follow his trail tomorrow. See what he saw," I affirmed, "But if we are to act like the humans, we must do as they do. That means, we should rest."

Urzael eyed the bed with an expression of deep suspicion. 

"Malthael did it, and so can we," He decided, like a mantra, settling himself down into the bed with an awkward expression. I clicked my tongue, before grabbing at the sheets and pulling them over us.

"If you hog the covers, I'll throw you out the window," I stated, before blowing out the lamp, and closing my eyes. I could hear Urzael's indigence through the darkness.


	4. Capriccioso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you've come for the library, I'm afraid it's almost time to close," The woman smiled apologetically, setting her own book down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Capriccioso: _To play in a free, playful, impulsive style._

Morning came uneventfully. We left the inn, making our way back to the town center. The journey to Bramwell wouldn't take long, and we knew we had to stay on Malthael's trail if we ever hoped to find him. Urzael's mood had improved, enough that I cheekily bumped his shoulder as we walked. It was familiar, reminding me of home.

"Aren't you just a harbinger of good fortune," I teased, jostling him. Urzael glanced at me, rolling his eyes. The joke never got old.

"Oh purveyor, spare me," He bemoaned, feigning to the left to escape another hair ruffle. Our good moods bled together, as we ambled out of the city, and steered clear of anything unsavory. By the time we were back outside, I could hardly remember the dark shadows from before. With the ocean at our back, high waters rising, and nature at our front, it was easy to forget humanity. 

"We should head to Bramwell next," I suggested, rolling out a map from my bag. It was close, and Malthael had ventured there, at the very least. There must have been something there.

"And after that?" Urzael asked, staring intently at the parchment. I placed a finger on Duncraig, tracing a route. Bramwell, to Duncraig, to Kingsport, to Tristram.

"If we don't find Malthael in Bramwell, we can skip right to Duncraig or Tristram," I shrugged. The name, Tristram, tickled at the back of my mind, for some reason unknown. Well, at the very least, it was close to the mountains, if we decided to rest at the monastery for a fashion.

"Malthael couldn't have gone far," Urzael affirmed. I hoped to believe him, setting the map away. I cast a brief glance at the sea, before beginning our long journey along the road to Bramwell. It would be so easy to manifest our wings and fly, but we chose not to. If we were to judge humanity, we had to understand how they lived. 

We entered the town of Bramwell under the blanket of twilight, a light dusting of snow crunching under our boots. It was the kind of city that tickled under your nose, the feeling of zealotry heavy in the breeze. Ancient, the stonework whispered. A river ran nearby, feeding into a great body of water, the rest of the town flanked by forests. 

"It's a little small," Urzael noted, glancing at the buildings that dotted around. I eyed the scurrying mortals with a healthy mixture of wary suspicion, while he attempted hopeful optimism. We made our way through the small city, the citizens shooting glances of trepidation our way. I wasn't sure what we were looking for, until we stumbled upon a library. Or, I assumed it was a library. We entered, still unsure, but I could smell that Malthael had been here, that leather and parchment, so I nudged us forward. There was a young woman at the counter, and the room could pleasantly be described as cozy. Only one or two other people, nestled into corners, a warm fire in the hearth and sturdy wooden floorboards. The other half of the building was a library, arching bookshelves that I itched to delve into.

"If you've come for the library, I'm afraid it's almost time to close," The woman smiled apologetically, setting her own book down. I felt my face heat at that smile, and thankfully Urzael did the speaking for us.

"Apologies. We were looking for a place to stay while we searched for our brother," Urzael grinned, awkward, fiddling with his hands. The librarian made a small face, scrutinizing us. 

"Oh, ah, you won't find any available inns in this town, traveler. They don't really like outsiders," She frowned. Then, she began to dig around under the desk, "But, you are travelers, right?"

We nodded.

She finished her search, pulling out a slightly old key and placing it on the counter, "I have a spare room in the loft, if you'd like. I'd just like to ask you some questions about the places you've been," And her eyes seemed to light up at that, the pursuit of knowledge. I glanced over at Urzael, and he dipped his head towards me deferentially.

"We'd be glad to," I agreed. The woman gave a genuine smile. 

"Oh, thank you. My name is Mildgyth."

"Aerael," I flicked my eyes to Urzael, "Urzael."

Urzael stepped forward slightly, brows knitted together, "We're looking for our brother, he came through here around a month ago? His name is Malthael."

Mildgyth lit up, lavender scented, bustling back under the counter, "Of course! Let me find the rooming ledger," and pulling out a small book. She flipped it open to the first page, turning it towards us, and my eyes zeroed in on Malthael's inked signature in the middle of the listings.

"Malthael..."

"He stayed with me for a little while, before he had to leave. He said he was heading south," Mildgyth smiled again, "I hope you find him."

I forced my eyes away from the page, "As do I."

Mildgyth handed the key to us, and we signed our names into the list. Then, she directed us to the door behind her, with instructions to follow the stairs to the door on the left, before returning to her reading. Urzael and I did as suggested, unlocking the door and stepping into the spare room. It was well furnished, bookshelves on the walls and a bed in the center, a window on the wall behind it. 

"Well, I'd like to stay here for a few days, if you wouldn't mind," I turned to Urzael. He looked over from the shelves.

"Oh, not at all. Pull out the map over here, could you?" He inquired. I tossed the map his way, and he smoothed it out on the desk. The town of Duncraig to the south, and Kingsport below it. Urzael pointed out our path, "He's following the same route as us. We can try and catch him in Tristram, and we'll still have time here." 

I brightened, "An excellent strategy."

While Urzael continued to study the maps, I went to look out the window. A beautiful view of the sea, stretching past the jagged cliff. I was struck by the childish desire for a breeze, despite the winter chill, and so I went about fumbling with the lock. Too bad for me that the lock was broken, and now it simply wouldn't open. A pity. But, considering our mortal forms, perhaps the cold wasn't the best for us.

"We should rest," I called over my shoulder, flopping back down onto the bed. The wool sheets scratched at my arms, and I let out a huff.

"But even the books in here are so intriguing!" Urzael protested. On one hand, I was relieved that not all of humanity was a cesspit. That was excellent. On the other hand, if Urzael didn't get into the bed this instant, I was going to _throw_ a book at him. 

"They'll be there tomorrow," I sang. Urzael gave a defeated sigh, but saw the wisdom in my words, blowing the lamp out and settling down beside me. On our backs, we could just barely see out the window and up at the starry night sky. 

"It'll be nice to return home."

I'm not sure which of us said it, but I know that I agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mildgyth is my favorite character. She is perfect and I love her.


	5. Piacevole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If we ignore him, maybe he'll go away," I muttered, voice pitched low as I went back to staring into the fire. It hissed and crackled, like an omen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piacevole: _Play in a pleasant manner._

The next morning, Urzael and I joined Mildgyth for breakfast. It was a simple meal, porridge and oats, but I offered my eternal thanks for her hospitality. She smiled a little, before slowly pulling out her notebook from before.

"Is it alright if?..." She trailed off, sheepish. I nodded, spooning the porridge into my mouth. Mortals were strange.

"Where did you come from?" She began. I shifted my eyes to the side, before relying on the vague nature of the question to pull us through.

"Westmarch."

"I hear the city is lovely," Mildgyth murmured, scratching down notes. She looked up at me, "Have you seen the Bloodmarsh?"

I could recall marching through a marshy area on our way out, but not clearly. The sea still held my heart. I nudged Urzael under the table, where he took the cue and smoothly inserted himself into the conversation. I say smoothly, but it was about as subtle as a falling star. 

"A lot of the vegetation there seemed alien to the forests around here," Urzael supplied. 

"Oh, yes" Mildgyth scratched down more notes, "Okay, one more. What was your brother looking for?"

Urzael and I exchanged looks. 

"We're not sure yet," I began, voice drifting. Urzael filled in the gap, "But I'm sure it's something amazing."

Mildgyth's eyes still twinkled from the new information, and I could assume that our next meals with her would be in much the same vein. Before anything else could be said, there was a knock on the library door.

"Coming!" Mildgyth hurried up and along, unlocking it, "I'm sorry, we're..."

A burly man, the size of a young oak, shouldered past her. He was armored like he expected an attack in the streets, posture rigid and voice cold. In another life, he might have reminded me of Imperius. But even Imperius had warmth, and all this man had was frost, like the winter around him.

"I heard you had guests," The man stated. His eyes landed on us, and I fought the phantom urge to unfurl my wings in challenge. All I did was end up straightening my back. I looked over, and Urzael unconsciously did the same.

"Mr. Gundar, I wasn't expecting you," Mildgyth squeaked, tucking hair behind her ear and fidgeting, "I'm sorry, but my research is still off limits, at least for now..." Gundar ignored her.

"Why are you here, outsiders?" He demanded, voice gruff like the wool blankets upstairs.

"Our brother Malthael–" Urzael started. Gundar barked a laugh. 

"Malthael, you say?" And then he was grinning, a deep thing, as his one eye scrutinized us, "Of course. I best be on my way then. I'll be seeing you," and then he left, as though he hadn't just stormed in and out without reason.

"I'm sorry about Mr. Gundar, he's the guard leader in town. He's just nervous about outsiders, is all," Mildgyth babbled anxiously, putting away books and making tense faces. 

"Of course," I replied, unsure, "We'll be going out into town for today, if that's alright. We should be back by nightfall."

"Nightfall! Yes, be back by then," Mildgyth encouraged. We blinked at her, and she hastened to add, "We have a wolf problem. Can't be too careful!"

We nodded and made our way out the door, still confused and a little concerned. But the town was bright and bustling, so we shrugged it off and decided to make the best of our time. 

We walked until the morning sky began to flicker with twilight. The people of the town were shifty eyed around us, scurrying away if we drew too near. I wondered if it was our appearance.

"We're fine," Urzael reassured at one point, but still frowning, "I mean, I think we're fine." 

Soon, we found our way to the town tavern. Urzael raised an eyebrow in interest, and so we both entered, taking shelter from the cold. It wasn't a surprise that most of the tables were filled, though, so we simply made our way to the hearth and warmed ourselves. 

"You two!" A gruff voice called. I lifted my head, only to find the man from earlier. Gundar, was it? He was still clad in his armor, but this time he sat at a large table, surrounded by drinks and friends in equal measure. I frowned.

"Is he talking to us?" Urzael asked, wary. 

"If we ignore him, maybe he'll go away," I muttered, voice pitched low as I went back to staring into the fire. It hissed and crackled, like an omen.

But Gundar persisted, until he sent one of his friends over to retrieve us, not taking polite refusals as an answer. Two chairs were pulled out, two mugs of some ale were set down in front of us, and Gundar's full attention was focused our way.

"So, you're related to Malthael," He began, face set into a wolf's smile.

"Yes," I replied, succinct, hoping to clip off that topic of conversation. But if anything, Gundar's smile only grew.

"What're your names?" 

Urzael was the one to speak, cautious, "I am Urzael, and this is Aerael."

Gundar's eyes narrowed at the edges, just a touch, like a demon that had smelled first blood, "Oh? Those are some interesting names."

"So it would seem," I stared at Gundar, my gaze flat. Gundar's good eye flicked between us.

"You're related, and to Malthael too," Gundar trailed off, raising an eyebrow, suggestive list to his voice, smarmy grin, " _Siblings_. That must be interesting."

My own eyebrows shot up at the implication, indignation flooding me, "By the Burning Hells–"

Urzael's knee bumped mine. I stopped myself. Gundar smiled.

"I have a fair bit of gold, if you'd like to accompany me. Just want to ask you some questions," and where there had been disgusting false joviality before, it all melted away, and I could hear cold steel in Gundar's voice. Yes, I could see him asking us questions, but I felt that it would be with the tip of a sword. 

I carefully pushed the untouched ale away. Urzael did the same. 

"I think it's time we left," I said. 

"We have to get back to Mildgyth," Urzael said.

And so we stood up from the table in tandem, maneuvered our way out, linked arms and ignored the way that Gundar's eyes boared into our backs. It wasn't until we were out of the tavern that I felt like I could breathe again, the air snapping clarity into my lungs. Urzael's eyes still lingered on the tavern.

"Let's go," Urzael stressed, "It's dark out."

Ah, "And Mildgyth warned us about that," I remembered, and sped our pace up. There wasn't anything overtly threatening about the nighttime, but I realized then that Mildgyth had meant the truth in not so many words when she said there were wolves out at night, for Gundar was a wolf among men indeed. A predator, treating us like prey. 

Briefly, I wished for Imperius. Or, at least his wrath. 

The library came into view, and Urzael and I bustled our way in, sighs of relief as the door closed. Mildgyth jumped up from the counter, rushing towards us.

"You're back! And, you're okay!" She exclaimed. Then, she calmed down, pushing up her wire frame glasses, "I was worried something had happened."

Urzael and I exchanged glances. Mildgyth's face fell.

"Oh, something did happen, didn't it?"

A pair of nods.

Mildgyth guided us back to the kitchen, where she ladled out soup and we sat down at the rickety table. The soup was vegetable, plain but filling.

"Gundar approached us at the tavern," Urzael was the first to speak. Mildgyth stared down into her broth and poked mournfully at a cabbage leaf.

"I had a feeling he would. He doesn't know when to leave well enough alone."

Urzael prepared to speak, but I cut him off, shoving his spoon into his mouth. Something was afoot, he needed to realize.

"Does he trouble you often?" I asked, voice layered with just enough of a casual pitch to seem relaxed and natural. 

"Well, only a little. Ever since Malthael came and left, he's been asking about my research, every day it seems," Mildgyth shook her head with a frown, "I keep telling him no, but he won't listen."

I pointedly stabbed at a bit of leak. 

"We'll keep an eye out for him next time," Urzael promised, and Mildgyth's smile of relief filled the room. The rest of our dinner conversation was a light affair, a few research questions thrown in, until we retired for bed and that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Gundar, you scamp, what will I even do with you.


	6. Dolente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Warm, the hearth of a fire, blazing embers spawned. Too close, little one, I beg thee, begone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dolente: _To play in a sorrowful, mournful manner._

A few days passed before we decided it was time to continue with our journey. The time was pleasantly peaceful, and though Gundar kept trying to corner us, nothing came of it. Mildgyth was a wonderful host, and we learned much from her. I felt regretful for having to depart.

"I told Mildgyth that we'll be leaving tomorrow," Urzael yawned, resting. I hummed in agreement, curled around a book of myths. Our bags were packed, slung over the sides of the bed. We'd catch up to Malthael soon, and then we could finally go home. Humanity wasn't as bad as I had believed. It seemed that Westmarch was just an awful place.

At some point, I must have dozed off, in the armchair with one hand wrapped around Urzael's wrist. It was very comfortable, though, so I couldn't fault myself for the daze.

 

I awoke to the smell of fire.

"What?" I mumbled, before my eyes snapped open, and I realized that it was not the scent of a warm hearth. This was fire, licking at the walls, burning the floorboards. Smoke filtered upwards, dense, and I choked on it, doubling over and squinting.

"Urzael!" I shouted, and he was awake in an instant, undergoing much the same process as I. But his eyes zeroed in on me, and he gave a shaky nod. We hastily grabbed our bags, and made for the door.

"Mildgyth!" I yelled, cupping my hands to the sides of my mouth, "Mildgyth!"

No reply. The heat of the burning building was intense now, enough to remind me of uncomfortable memories. Urzael's eyes kept flickering with uncertainty. 

"Go for the stairs, I'll grab Mildgyth!" I commanded, before I slammed my shoulder into the wooden door, sending it flying open. Urzael was behind me then, shouting, "The stairs are broken!" Which didn't make sense, but I shoved that to the back of my mind, demanding focus.

Mildgyth's room was tidy, and I scanned around for her. My eyes flickered to the lavender shaped space on the floor. She should have been here, where–

"Anu, no!" I keened.

She was dead. 

I rushed over to her, to put my hands on her neck, try and stem the blood, but a dagger wound was a fatal one, and she'd died before I had even awoken. All I achieved was covering my hands in her warm blood, as I stared at her empty eyes, frozen in fear. I was no stranger to death, but here I was, unable to comprehend it, my heart filling my ears. 

"Aerael, the ceiling!" Urzael roared. I looked up, watching as a beam splintered from the flames, but I didn't move. Urzael's arms wrapped around my chest and pulled me back, just in time, the beam collapsing in front of me, taking the floor and Mildgyth with it. Through the hole in the floor, it seemed hellfire burst. But I couldn't even budge. The blood on my hands was cool in contrast to the wicked heat around us.

"We have to move!" Urzael again. I scrambled to my feet, drowning out all thoughts except survival. Mildgyth's window was blocked by fire, and the only other window was in the spare room. I grabbed Urzael, smearing the blood with soot, until we had sprinted to the room window. The lock was still stuck, unmoving, and I cursed feverishly as I tried to dislodge it.

"Chair!" I demanded, and ducked. Urzael slammed a chair through the window, and it was open, the winter breeze flooding the room, feeding the flames. I squinted my eyes, grabbing hold of Urzael's arm as I dragged myself out, and he followed, until we were out into the bitter air, smoke exiting our lungs in hacking coughs. The stinging of my eyes didn't abate. It was a long drop, from the roof to the ground below, but our options were limited and so Urzael and I linked hands, nodded firm, and fell. We tumbled, and stumbled, but our rolls took the brunt of the damage and we were unscathed. We sat together, unmoving in the snow. All that was left was the burning library, a towering inferno in the darkness of the night. 

"Mildgyth," I muttered, staring at the roaring flames. A crowd had begun to gather, but I couldn't bother to notice. Urzael's hand was still in mine, a death grip that must have hurt, but we didn't move.

"She's dead," He choked out, "Someone killed her. Someone did this."

I was reminded again of her blood on my hands, drying, and the knowledge that she was gone. Her life's work was gone with her. No one would remember young Mildgyth, in the little town of Bramwell. Gone, just like that.

"What is the meaning of this?" A strong voice demanded. Gundar, my mind supplied. I grit my teeth. A trickle of blood dripped onto the dirt.

"She's dead," Urzael spat, still looking at the library, but his eyes seemed dimensions away. Every now and again, a breeze would blow through it, and fragments of paper would be sent sailing out.

"By the Light..."

Gundar turned to us, a guard contingent flanking him, eyes alight wth some perversion of angelic wrath, "You two! You're under arrest for voluntary manslaughter and arson."

At those words, my head snapped up, "Excuse us?!"

"You heard me!" He snapped back, "Only two people could have started this blaze, and it was you two, filthy outsiders." 

And I would have shouted something in reply, something terrifying and brutal, but I caught sight of something familiar. A notebook, half shoved into one of Gundar's pouches. A familiar, leather bound account book.

My mouth twisted with shock. Urzael stood up before I could even consider it, pulling me up with him, and he was all rage, a holy angel willing to smite his enemies, "You! It was you who killed her, wasn't it? You set the blaze to try and kill us too!"

Gundar backpedaled, but his eyes were wild with fear, so telling and so obvious, his lies scenting the air like brimstone and foul blood, "How dare you try and slander me with those lies!"

The crowd began to jeer, at us, rallying their cries of religion and demanding penance through sacrifice. All of them, from the eldest to the small, shouting for retribution, illuminated by the fires of sin. I clasped Urzael's arm, reminding myself that this wasn't the Burning Hells, that we were fine.

"Why would you do it?" I asked, realization, close beside Urzael, "Why? Did you want her research so badly?"

Gundar squared his shoulders, "I'll have you know that Mildgyth's research findings would have even invaluable for the Church of Light. She refused to part with them!" The crowd got louder, boxing us in, coming too close and brandishing their fists and other weapons. Gundar continued on, spittle in the air, conducting his audience, "We have reason to believe that this _Malthael_ was actually a demon in disguise. Which would make you his demonic brethren!"

The mob grew louder, stirred into a religious frenzy, at the mention of the mere word demon. Half of them demanded our blood for killing Mildgyth, demon spawn we were, the other half called her a godless heathen. One citizen reached forward, yelling obscenities, and yanked hard on Urzael's arm. His eyes went wide, reflected in the inferno. My heart stuttered, self-control snapped.

_That was enough._

"Stop!" I demanded, shoving them backwards, and suddenly I was heaving myself upwards, into the sky and air, eyes blazing with fury, wings unfurling so far as to touch the forests around us. The crowd had gone silent, breathless, perhaps at the sight of divinity or the force my words.

"You are _mayflies_ in the eyes of dragons. We had come to judge your worth, mortals, and every day we find you wanting. Justice itself thought you deserving of life, and it pains me that I should find him wrong! You should be better than this."

The mob didn't move. Gundar didn't move. The guards didn't move. But Urzael did move, I could feel him reeling upwards as well, his own wings pale as death and quiet as the night we stood in. We couldn't kill them, but oh Anu did I wish we could. Justice, my soul demanded, and Anu knew I wanted.

"Sleep," He said, and so they slept, falling where they stood, messy piles in the snowdrifts. Urzael turned, and I found his wings wrapped around me. Cool to the touch, yet he always was, and slowly he forced me downwards until the snow crunched under us and we could breathe. The air was oppressive, sounds eaten up by the forest, save for the flame crackle on the wind.

"I'm sorry," I managed, squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my hands, until they were as white as the blizzard. Urzael shuddered with soundless sobs, his own grief just as fierce, wings around us. And so we lay in that silence, unmoving on the ground, as the library disappeared into the night and took all mention of Mildgyth with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mildgyth's name means hope. Which is kind of ironic.


	7. Sforzando

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The cathedral," I said, absently tapping my fingers on the lip of the tankard. Bron's smile disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sforzando: _To play in a forced manner_

The walk to Tristram took three days. We prayed for Mildgyth, but it didn't feel like enough, didn't feel like justice to turn tail and leave, letting her murderers go free while she turned to dust in the wind. Her journal, cast into the flames that had claimed her, nothing but a name on the breeze.

The ocean didn't seem half so soothing now, the waves ripping across the water, but it did suit out moods. 

Tristram came into view on the horizon, a smattering of stone buildings that jutted out of the ground like gravestones, with the sun perched high. There were wagons with molted fabrics, shambles, and a foul scent on the breeze, a roiling in the stomach.

"I feel it too," Urzael murmured, turning his gaze to the crumbling cathedral in the distance. 

We walked into the town, but town would have to be the subjective word. I wasn't sure what had happened, but it was all ruins, buildings destroyed and decayed. When I referenced gravestones, I didn't expect literal gravestones to be dotted around every single house. It was, in a very real sense, a ghost town. Something had come to Tristram, long ago, something malicious indeed. But the wagons still remained, the humans lingering like the plague. I was baffled as to the why, why would they decide to stay in a town that had been cursed and destroyed? 

At the very least, we soon found an inn. I didn't want to stay in the town for any longer than necessary, a prickling sensation on the back of my neck wherever I walked. We were being watched, I knew that much for certain. But by what, I couldn't say. Definitely not the humans, though.

Whereas the smantering of wagons in the town were little more than decayed wooden boards and prayers, the inn at least was habitable. Sort of. There weren't many patrons, but it was warm, and clean, and no one looked liable to stab us in our sleep.

I wondered when I started considering that as normal.

"Welcome to the Slaughtered Calf Inn. Bring me whatever treasures you have no use for. I'll give you a bit of coin to save up for your casket," The barkeep called, cleaning glasses that didn't look like they needed to be cleaned. Urzael blinked in surprise at the greeting, but it seemed this town loved its fatalist humor. 

"Humans are so morbid," He muttered. We shuffled up to the counter, and the barkeep nodded once. 

"Call me Bron. What can I get you?" Bron the Barkeep inquired, shuffling something under the counter. I tried to find hostility in his face, tried to match up the harsh lines of Gundar, but there was nothing. He was just a man, but I couldn't stop trying to find fault, if it meant I could stop something from going wrong before it began. Not again.

"Hey, easy there," Bron raised his hands in a placating way, "You look like Hell. Here, on the house," And then he slid out two tankards of...warm milk?

Urzael and I took a seat, hunching over the bar warily, and eyeing the milk with wary suspicion. We looked back up at Bron.

"I've seen travelers like you before," Bron stated, shaking his head ruefully, "Seen some things, haven't you? So, you get milk. Seems like the thing to have."

"I thought you were a barkeep," Urzael interjected.

Bron got this look in his eyes, "Yeah, well, seen too many of your lot get lost in the bottle before," And then it was gone a moment later, his jovial smile returning, "Besides, it's harder to kick out drunks."

Urzael and I shared a deferential nod, settling down and drinking the milk. For a tavern, the atmosphere was rather calm. I got the feeling Bron didn't get much business in his area. 

"See, the problem is they never should have named this place New 'Tristram'. We wouldn't be getting attacked all the time if we were called, oh, I don't know, New Wellington, would we?" Bron grumbled. I smiled into my mug, and let the tension ebb out. Urzael nursed his with bemusement. The only other noises were the sounds of the fire, a few patrons muttering, and Bron whistling out of key. There was the sound of the tavern door opening, a heavy, wooden sound, followed by the shuffling of feet. 

"So, where are you heading?" Bron looked back to us, and I turned my head to look out the curtained window. There was the cathedral on the horizon, perched on a hill, decrepit and radiating evil. I drudged up a glare for it, the principal of the thing really. 

"The cathedral," I said, absently tapping my fingers on the lip of the tankard.

Bron's smile disappeared. 

"The cathedral?" He repeated, then his eyes followed mine, looking at the ruins, "Why would you ever want to do that? If you're going for treasure, you won't find any. Your life ain't worth the scraps left."

"We're looking for our brother," Urzael explained, defensive, and that stopped Bron's judgmental squint. He made a curious noise, before looking somewhere behind us.

"Deckard Cain!" He called. There was a shuffle of feet, before an elderly man sat in the stoll beside me. I glanced over, but he glanced too, and his eyes stared straight into my soul. They spoke of stories, of vastness of knowledge. I was reminded of Itherael.

"Greetings, Bron," The elder man smiled to the barkeep, old and wry. The look in the old man's eyes had vanished, replaced by politeness, but I itched to know what he had seen.

"Cain, these folks here said their brother went to the cathedral," Bron grunted. Cain's eyes flickered over to us, bright like fire, eagerness of knowledge. 

"Yes, I saw a man enter there, only a night ago," Deckard Cain confirmed, placing a hand on his wizened chin, "Lanky fellow, seemed a bit lost," And then a frown, "I had wondered if he was going to be fine, going in alone, but by the time I went back, he was gone."

My breath hitched, "What's in the cathedral?" 

Bron and Cain looked at me curiously.

"You don't know?" Bron asked, setting down a tankard for Cain, "Really?"

"Know what?" Urzael demanded, hands gripping the fabric of his pants, balled into anxious fists, "What don't we know?"

"What's in the cathedral?" I asked again, hand on Urzael's shoulder, my voice the same as when I'd train recruits.

"Legend says that there exist tunnels to hell in the catacombs, built by Diablo himself," Bron grinned. My grip on the mug faltered, at mere mention of the Lord of Terror.

"Diablo?" I choked past the burning of my throat. Urzael was beside me in an instant, hands on my back, chest rumbling with thunder. He felt afraid.

"Easy there, it's just a legend," Bron placated, but Cain's eyes bore into me, and I knew that this was a lie. 

"Malthael went down there?" I managed. The elder man's eyebrows rose slightly.

"That being your brother, yes?" He clarified. A pair of nods, still shell shocked with horror, "And what would your names be?" 

"That-" Urzael snarled, hackles rising, but I cut him off brusquely, 

"Aerael, and my brother, Urzael."

Cain looked positively delighted. Bron clapped me on the shoulder, "Strange names, but this is a strange town. I have a cup of ale to offer to take your mind off of this demon nonsense." 

"I'd love to, but," and then I was out of my seat, subtlety hauling Urzael in my arms, "We have to find our brother."

Bron waved us goodbye, bid us luck, but we had already hurried out the door, into the town, leaving the tavern behind us at a fast pace. 

"What's your problem?" I demanded once we were a suitable distance away, my hand still on Urzael's arm. 

"They're humans," Urzael growled, "They were only being nice so they could stab us in the back."

"They were being nice because that's what people do," I retorted, "Just because they're part demon, doesn't mean they lack the compassion of us."

"Tell that to Mildgyth!" Urzael snapped, wrenching his arm free of my grasp. I reeled back as if slapped, left standing in the middle of a ruined town, and suddenly I felt terribly alone.

"You-"

"Travelers, wait!" A voice called. Our heads swiveled, and from the cobblestones of the road came the form of the scholar, Deckard Cain. He looked harried, and stopped for breath as soon as he caught up to us. 

"Yes?" I inquired, actively suppressing the steel in my voice, but I mustn't have done a good job, for Cain stutter-stepped.

"I have a prophecy for you. It, is a dire warning. You must listen," He smiled, weakly, bearer of bad news. There was a brief whisper in my mind, _self-sacrifices edifices of stone_ , and my stance faltered. 

"Speak," Urzael spat. Deckard Cain rose up, full height, and his face turned firm. His eyes, though, his eyes, they were all burning blazes and belief. With the first breath past Cain's lips, I knew that this would be the beginning of the end.

"And, at the End of Days, Wisdom shall be lost  
as Justice falls upon the world of men.  
Valor shall turn to Wrath -  
and all Hope will be swallowed by Despair.  
Death, at last, shall spread its wings over all -  
as Fate lies shattered forever."

There was silence.

"What is the name of this prophecy?" I asked, voice heavy with something unidentifiable. Urzael shook.

"The End of Days."

"I," I paused, the prophecy searing into my mind. My voice shifted, "I'm sorry," the unsaid, _it's already begun._

"How do you know these things?" Urzael hissed, attempting to loom over the man, "Who told you?" His voice was full of fury, and laced with grief.

"Urzael, stop this," I stood between the two, my hands on Urzael's shoulders, "This mortal has done nothing wrong." 

Something flickered in Urzael's soul, then. Perhaps the wound of Bramwell was still festering, perhaps humanity had poisoned him with doubt. He let out a keen that broke my heart into pieces.

"You are blind!" Urzael howled, stepping back, "You take their side, when their choice is overwhelmingly that of evil!"

"Listen to yourself, brother!" I shouted, "You're acting mad. Please, just–"

"If you won't see reason, then perhaps Lord Malthael will understand," Urzael twisted around, and sprinted down the road, towards the cathedral in the distance. The snowstorm picked up.

"Urzael, wait!" I pleaded. He didn't slow. As I prepared to take after him, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Deckard Cain's face was unreadable, but scrutinized me one final time.

"Whatever you do," he began, "Do not trust what you hear. Run, as fast as you can."

I nodded, face weary, the unbearable lightness of being, and ran off into the rising blizzard.


	8. Con Deciso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With every ounce of courage I had squirreled away, I turned, my torch brandished. "Show yourself!" I demanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Con Deciso: _With determination._

The cathedral. 

I saw it through the blizzard, past the howling winds, a towering structure of stone. The iron of the wooden doors was frozen stiff, but I shouldered it opened easily, letting it slam behind me with an echoing thud. I could see the snowy footprints of Urzael, but they disappeared as I rushed deeper into the main room. The pews were rotted, but the arched walls kept out most of the chill. The stained glass windows were still intact, too, and I stumbled when I saw them. There was a scene of Imperius slaying Diablo– foolish, but so Imperius was. Briefly, I wondered why that was in a mortal church, until I turned my head too fast and came face to face with–

«H҉̬͇̲̞̳͔͕e̜̥̲͎͘ͅl͇̳̕l̗͙͈͇̲͉ͅo̗̟̞̜»  
"

I yelled, something obscene no doubt, stumbling to the floor, my hands in front of me defensively. I blinked, and the shadowy apparition was gone. But, I didn't feel any safer. No, I felt the uncomfortable sensation of eyes on me from every angle, and so I stood up, back against the wall, the stained glass Imperius gazing over me. 

Stupid sentiment, but it made me feel safer.

"Anyone there?" I asked carefully, eyes darting to corners. I swore I heard a laugh, but I knew it to be the rasp of wind through the stonework. The room had many exits, and I still didn't know which way Urzael had gone. With a brief effort, I closed my eyes, and reached outward, straining my senses. Urzael smelled of leather and a winter's wind. I could pick up his scent after a fashion, watching it wind down the stairs. Gotcha. 

" _Going somewhere?_ " A voice asked from behind me. I recoiled, stumbling down the stairs, but I was still alone. That most definitely was not the wind. The hairs on my neck stood on edge, so I retreated down the worn stone floor, opening the old wooden door that Urzael had gone through. It was cloaked in darkness, only a single torch to light the way, the other holder empty. The staircase looked rickety, but survivable. I took each step two at a time, torch in hand.

"Urzael!" I called, into the darkness, "Urzael!"

I reached the end of the staircase, only to enter a crypt. The temperature was warmer, just enough to be uncomfortable. My fire filled the slim tunnels, lined with bones, but no Urzael.

"Urzael!" I tried again. I was getting a little worried now. I wasn't sure if it was something in the stagnant air, but I felt like my throat was constricting, too tight around me. The only sound that filled the corridors was my shallow breathing, the occasional _drip drip_ of old water, the sound of my solid footsteps on cracked stone.

"Aerael!"

I turned fast. The call was distant, but it came from behind me, most definitely. I tried to pin the voice down, but it seemed to warble, disappearing into the air at my effort.

"Urzael?" I attempted.

"Aerael!" It wasn't any closer to me, but it sounded more like Urzael than before. I began to walk towards it, but the echo of Cain's words stopped me.

_"Don't trust what you hear."_

"Aerael!" The voice was insistent. If I listened closely, I realized it sounded nothing like Urzael. It was just generic enough to pass as any voice it needed. I took a step back. My heart thudded, as I backpedaled away from the voice, before turning and walking away. 

"Aerael!" The voice was getting closer. I swallowed the fear in my mouth, and began to hurry, running through the catacombs with torch in hand. Left, left, right, left. The tunnels all looked nearly identical, lined with skeletons and embalmed corpses. The darkness was getting thicker, but I kept running, taking turns blindly if need be. 

"Aerael!" And still the voice drew closer. It couldn't have been more than a tunnel away from me, and despite the heat of the underground, I felt myself begin to chill. My heart leapt into my throat, and my grip on the torch tightened even further. 

_"Run, as fast as you can."_

Run I did, the words ringing in my mind, my feet slamming into the cobblestones. I was wild with terror, an aeons old being, forced through dark passages, chased like some common mortal. With every turn, every gasping breath, thudding of my chest, I was so sure I would lose whatever was chasing me. 

"Aerael!" But it was right behind me now. I could feel the air of death on my neck, a looming presence on my back. Undistilled fear flooded me, like hands tight on my throat. The next turn I took, I came upon a dead end, in both senses of the word. My hands began to frantically grasp the wall, looking for any way out, but I could find nothing. The same chill suddenly filled the corridor, and I knew that this was the end. 

With every ounce of courage I had squirreled away, I turned, my torch brandished.

"Show yourself!" I demanded. 

"Aerael."

The apparition was cloaked in only darkness, so dense that not even my torchlight could penetrate. I inhaled shakily, taking a cautionary step back. The figure calmly continued on forward. There existed no corridor behind it, not anymore, as the void seemed to consume any escape.

"Aerael," and their voice, it was a thousand screeching souls, the gentle sound of a lullaby. I stepped back again. But the shade drew ever closer, and as they did, features were defined. A hood, gilded armor, strong hands. 

"Tyrael," I choked out. Fear, terror, abject horror. I watched the armor decay before my eyes, rusting away, dissolving into ash, streaks of dried blood. I stepped back, but the wall was upon me now, and I had nowhere else to run. The torch was useless, but I still held onto it, like some talisman of hope. 

'Tyrael' was a step away. There was nothing under his hood, only darkness. Like he meant to take my soul and destroy me. My hand pressed against the wall, feeling around for escape, the other holding the fire outwards.

"Stay back, demon!" I threatened. The apparition chuckled, a vibration of being, and then the torch went out. _Whsssh_. And with it, all of my courage. I flattened myself against the aged stone, and suddenly the demonic corruption was a breath away. A ghostly hand reached up to touch my neck, a perversion of love. The creeping frost of death filled me. My chest heaved for air, but there was nothing, I was trapped. My free hand knocked into a loose stone, just as 'Tyrael' leaned inwards, intent on my lips. The stonework behind me collapsed suddenly, as my hand slammed the indentation of false stone, and I was sent falling backwards, down into the catacombs, a steep drop that at least took me away from my greatest fear.

I landed with a slamming _thud_. Everything, for a moment, was agony. My neck felt frozen, even as I reached up to affirm it was fine. No, the frost was on the inside now.

"Burning Hells," was all I managed, before I scrambled to my feet, and was running again, the torch forgotten. I wasn't sure where I was running, but I closed my eyes, searching for that silvery strand that spoke of Urzael. And I found it, leading straight into an antechamber. There was still a calling behind me, but it was far away, the cries to 'Aerael' that I ignored steadfast. 

"Urzael!" I yelled.

I slammed open the rotted door, hurrying into the room. It smelled of sulfur, brimstone.

"Aerael?!" And there was Urzael, wild eyed, "Stay back!"

"Urzael, wait!" I took a step forward. His eyes widened.

"No, you don't-"

A hulking demon roared into the room.

"Fresh meat!" It screamed.

It had been many, many years since I had seen a Butcher. Demons stitched together, in service to Diablo, given strength by dark magics. I had two primary concerns. The first being, why was one here. The second that it was staring right at me. 

"Aerael, get out of here!" Urzael pleaded.

"Not without you!" I barked.

The Butcher slashed down, heaving his cleaver, but I dodged. I rose my arm, already prepping a barrage of holy fire– only for it to sputter out. The frost I felt in my neck throbbed, like it was absorbing the energies. For lack of a better term, it seemed I was stuck in my human shell, bound by a demonic lock.

"Oh."

"Mm, smells tasty!" The Butcher shouted. I scrambled away, just in time, as the strike embedded in the dirt beneath us. 

"Aerael, here!" And then Urzael was beside me, hauling me up and away. We rushed to an alcove, taking cover while the Butcher cursed and flailed at his failure.

"He's killed them," Urzael whispered, frantic, "All of them, dead. I thought you were dead."

"What?" Was all I managed. I looked around, but the only corpses I saw were long since dead, bodies that had rotted beyond recovery. 

"The humans, they summoned him. And now Lord Malthael is dead, and Lord Imperius, and even Lady Auriel," Urzael gestured to the corpses, his eyes pinpricks, and his breathing ragged, "I saw you, they killed you too. I can't believe you're alive." 

Urzael's hands gripped my shirt, like he was afraid I was some kind of ghost. I knew what he was seeing wasn't real, but I also knew that the terror of it didn't disappear so easily. But, we didn't have the time to break it, so I did the next best thing.

"Urzael," I wrapped an arm around him, "None of that was real. I'm here. I'm fine. Calm yourself, brother."

Urzael's breathing steadied out.

"Are you certain?"

"The Lord of Terror," I dipped my head, "He's crafty. He'll make you see things that aren't real, but you mustn't let him."

The rumbling of the Butcher drew closer. I drew in a deep breath, and then stepped away, "Come on. We can't let some demon beat us, now, can we?" 

Some of the life returned to Urzael's eyes, "Never."

There was a set of discarded weapons near the entrance of the alcove, a pair of short swords and what looked to be a halberd. I frowned, before handing the swords off to Urzael.

"It's better than nothing," I decided, weighing the halberd. Imperius would be delighted. Urzael took the twin blades with grace, but I stopped him.

"I'll keep it distracted for you. Be careful," I warned, before we stepped back again, and went into battle. 

"Angel meat? Hahaha!" The Butcher smiled with glee, stomping towards us. I slid to the left, swiping at his legs with the halberd. It worked, drawing his attention to me, and away from Urzael. 

"Fight me!" I demanded. The Butcher roared. He was a gross amalgamation of flesh, stitched together, but I'd fought demons much tougher than he. I only had a few minor handicaps to work around.

So Urzael was behind the demon, tactical drop-downs that left the monster reeling, while I kept his attention centered. Slowly, we whittled The Butcher down. It seemed that we would win the fight, and my yells of courage filled the room.

Things fall apart. I didn't even notice the return of the apparition.

"Aerael!" But I did notice the voice, as I turned my gaze, and stumbled. He was in the doorway, and then he was right beside me, and then he was a hair's breath away. I twisted away, but my neck was caught. The darkness of his hood seemed to drag me in, and the air in my lungs was stolen away. You could lose yourself in that void. I nearly did.

The Butcher took the opportunity for what it was worth. I blinked, and suddenly I was in the air, sailing, until I slammed into the wall. There was no wraith, not anymore. I struggled upwards, but my body wouldn't move– I wasn't sure if it was the wall, or the demon, but it wouldn't move– and I was stuck, my halberd struck in the ground in front of me. 

"Heheheh," The Butcher laughed. His cleaver heaved up into the air, a grim smile. The metal glinted in the haze of oil light. I tensed. Well, if nothing else, Urzael would get one final clear shot. Except, I could see him running towards me.

"Aerael!" Oh, he _wouldn't._

But he did, as Urzael sprung out, right in front of me, like some self-sacrificing shield. He shouted, waving his swords in the air. The monstrosity refocused his attention on the noisy one, and then Urzael ran off, taking the beast with him, like he was doing me a favor. 

"Come back here and face me!" I bellowed, but the Butcher didn't notice. Or, if he did, he didn't care. I groped around until I grabbed the halberd, using it to force myself up, and my face contorted with pain. But my steps were steady, mostly, until I was close enough to see the Butcher catch Urzael in the leg, and he crumpled to the ground like wet paper in a stiff breeze. 

No.

"Urzael!" I roared, stricken, heart in my throat before I sprinted forward, put myself in between him and the grotesque Frankenstein monster. The Butcher chortled, a wet sound, but his head was close enough to me now, close enough for me to plant my feet and swing. It caught him in the eye, and I shoved forward, using every bit of strength and anger I had saved up to lodge the halberd firm. 

"My eye!" The Butcher whinnied, falling back several steps, blood spurting. Try as he might, the halberd would not budge. And so, he huffed out a panicked snort, before slamming his way out of the antechamber, retreating back to whatever hole he crawled out of. 

I dropped to the ground. 

"We did it, Urzael," I breathed, letting my head drop as I turned, a hard won smile overtaking my mouth. Urzael didn't move from his place on the ground, and I paled when I saw red staining the dirt. 

"Urzael, come on," I urged, crouching beside him, my hands on his shoulders, "Wake up. Urzael, wake up!"

Urzael's eyes fluttered open after a particularly hard shake.

"Behind you," he wheezed. My face warped, fear, and I didn't spare a moment's glance behind me, shoving my arms under his body– just ignore the pain ignore it– and launched myself forward and up. I turned, and blanched. The room was filled with shadows, and shapes, figures that seemed jumbled or occasionally defined. Wraiths, or shades, demonic apparitions.

"The humans," Urzael keened, "They're back."

"Oh," because I was a solider, not exactly a linguist. Those weren't humans, I could say that. But if my greatest fear was Tyrael's death, then Urzael's greatest fear was our death– and, it seemed, that these deadly apparitions had that intent in mind. Maybe Urzael's terror fueled them, or perhaps the Lord of Terror was just very good at his job. I didn't have it in me to ask.

"Watch my back!" I commanded, before bolting, Urzael thrown over my shoulders. The room had three exits. I took the one on the far end, praying that it worked. Death as humans wasn't the problem, it was our death at the hands of these demonic spirits. They would end us, without a doubt. And so I pushed past the pain, letting Urzael guide me, as I charged into the darkness and ignored the clamoring and screeching behind us. 

"Take a left!" Urzael stated, voice pitched loud.  
"Are you certain?" I questioned. The left looked like a dead end, from my angle. But...

"Trust me!" 

And so I did. 

As I turned out, the left was not a dead it. It was merely a destruction of the tunnels, leading out into an underground cavern of sorts. From the faint glint of light, I could make out water. I tightened my grip on Urzael, still sprinting, as I prayed, and jumped. We fell for a solid few seconds, the darkness roaring past, before I hit the water, sending waves flying. I flailed around, holding tightly onto Urzael, until we brushed the surface of the water and came out for air. We took grateful, labored breaths, but couldn't spare a second longer, paddling to the shoreline and climbing out.

"Up there," Urzael pointed, and I could see light. It was an exit. 

"How," I questioned, lips quirked with relieved amusement, shoving my way under his shoulders so he could walk with assistance.

"Perhaps I got lost," he sniffed demurely. I gave a bark of laughter, still weary, but we pressed on. We climbed until we couldn't hear the ghostly screams behind us, and I let out a sigh of relief. The feeling of freezing wind on our faces was a blessing. Outside, as the snow blanketed the forests, we collapsed near the entrance to the cave. I could see the monastery on the horizon.

"Lord Malthael is close," I said, and I could feel it. Urzael nodded.

"Let's find him, then, and get out of here."

And so we stood, hand in hand, arm in arm, as we made our way back to the monastery, leaving the memories of Tristram behind us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALBERDS


	9. Dissonanza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We stood in an uneasy silence, quietly investigating the room. Not even their scents lingered..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dissonanza: _Play in a conflicting, dissonant manner_

As we drew closer to the monastery, I realized that Malthael was near. Near, and the only place that he could be was the monastery itself. How he found it, I didn't know. But I know that Urzael and I shared gasps of elation the moment we realized, and were it not for our injuries, we would have taken the ancient steps two at a time. 

"When we get back," I began, exhausted smile on my face, "We'll spend a week at the Reliquary. Then, after that, we'll take Malthael and spend at least a month on the outskirts of the Crystal Arch."

Urzael wheezed a giddy laugh, still weak, "After that, we'll come down here and cleanse that cathedral."

"I was getting to that," I rolled my eyes, goodnatured. 

We continued to babble and ramble our way up to the entrance of the monastery, letting our good moods flow together. The hurts of before seemed distant, and all I could think of was how much I missed home.

"And then, we'll–" I nudged. Then, suddenly, I stopped, standing in the entrance to the monastery. I blinked, "Why is it so quiet?"

No murmurs of the angelic maidens, no rustles on the stone, not even the sound of wind. It was, eerie. Unsettling.

"Huh," Urzael peered in, "Maybe they all left?"

I gave him a sharp look.

"Maybe Malthael took them to look for us?" He attempted. I relented, shaking my head.

"Diablo must have me on edge," I muttered. Urzael gave me a pat on the shoulder, and inside we went. 

"We have returned!" I announced, letting my steps echo down the halls. Nothing. I knew I was being paranoid for no reason, but I couldn't shake it. We walked until we entered the main chamber, only to find that there was no one inside. 

"That's strange," Urzael frowned, hand on one of the carved tables, "They should be here."

We stood in an uneasy silence, quietly investigating the room. Not even their scents lingered. Just stagnant air, as if this place had been abandoned for centuries. I tilted my head, the wrongness returning, and was just about to suggest that perhaps we should leave, fingers twitching anxiously. 

"Looking for something?"

Urzael tumbled beside the table. I turned fast enough to give myself whiplash. There, standing soundlessly in the doorway, was Malthael. 

"Lord Malthael!" We both exclaimed, nearly falling over ourselves in our haste. He was hale and hearty, black and silvery robes of leather as pristine as they had always been, the scent of parchment enveloping him. Tall, an unwavering statue of wisdom, and I found myself flooded with relief. It seemed like millennia since we last saw him. Seeing him standing in front of us was almost like a dream.

"Aerael, Urzael?" In leu of greeting, he went straight to surprise. 

"We, ah, donned human disguises while we looked for you," I supplied, inexplicably sheepish. Malthael nodded, only a brief inclination of his head, measured. 

"Where are the angelic maidens?" Urzael inquired, glancing behind Malthael, as though they were hiding behind him. Malthael tilted his head, just enough, slow and precise. 

"Follow me," He said, before breezing out of the room. Urzael and I followed side by side, and I had just managed to ignore the odd feeling manifesting in my stomach. We were safe, I reminded myself, Malthael was here.

"Once we find them, could you help us undue our human forms?" I asked. (Truth be told, I was feeling a little cramped, after so long confined in a mortal shell).

"Of course," he decided, the words stilted. 

The rest of our short journey was made in silence. Urzael and I didn't banter, some unsettling force keeping us silent. Just like the birds and the wind, our words did not come. When we finally reached the room, the unnerving sensation again slammed into me at full force. I grabbed for Urzael's hand, troubled, needing the reassurance more than anything.

"Do you feel that?" My voice was subdued, pitched low, hair tickling his ear no doubt.

"Feel what?" He replied. I could feel the concern on him. But...

"It's nothing. I must just need to relax," the lie that wasn't a lie. I released his hand after that, not as thought Malthael noticed nor cared of our interactions. No, he was staring at the door with a single-minded focus that sent chills.

Urzael gave me another look, opened his mouth to speak, but then the door to the room was opened, and we stepped inside. There was a hint of darkness, curling at the edges. I paused, for it was daytime, and surely the sun would at least be hitting this room? Then, the smell drifted to me. Wisdom be damned, I choked, rapidly blinking, for I had never smelled something so wrong before. It was a blast of death, of fear and confusion commingling together, with a ribbon of desolation to join it all. I had fought countless battles in my years, but never had I known something like this. 

Of course, the next thing that struck me was what I saw. I strained my eyes, past the fluctuating shadows that combed the room. Then, I stumbled. The entire angelic maiden battalion stood motionless, not even shifting, still as statues. They were warped, something corrupted, half of their armors missing, blackened pits, blue flames filling gaps and replacing wings. All of their heads turned to us as we entered, a singular movement, their unfaltering gazes with one focus.

"Lord Malthael," came the uniform greeting, a monotone drone. In my shock, utter and steadfast as it was, the only thing I could think of was that Auriel was going to kill me for this. 

"Malthael, what–" I turned, thinking it some demonic work, and wouldn't that just be something, another cherry on top of the horrible sundae we had been served. What I didn't expect was to see Malthael so pleased. I took in another breath, carefully and deliberately calm, "What happened?"

"I asked them to join me," Malthael replied, turning entirely to me. There was death in his eyes, in the flicker of his wings. I felt a glacial coldness overtake my body, the kind that filled my stomach. Wisdom shall be lost, Cain's words echoed. I didn't think it would be like this. Please, not like this. 

"Join you for what?" My voice was the picture of restraint. Perfectly manicured casualness. Malthael didn't seem to notice, too busy rising up, flaring his wings wide, folding outwards. He had prepared for this. 

"To end the demonic taint that is humanity."

Though we stood in exactly the same silence as before, I couldn't help it feel it was denser now. I could hear my breathing hitch, the smallest rustle of fabric as I twitched. 

Urzael stepped forward, boots making decisive falls, and his face warped with joy, oh what a truly terrible sight, "Lord Malthael, you feel the same?"

Malthael moved, face to face with his chief lieutenant, while I stood rigid in the background. I wanted to push forward, grab Urzael by his lapels and demand to know what he was doing. But, the weight of the angelic maiden's unholy stares seemed to root me in place, planted me like a pillar of salt. 

Malthael slowly placed a hand on Urzael's shoulder, "Yes, Urzael. Humanity is a plague."

"Please, help me rid myself of his shell," Urzael begged, and I could hear the desperation in his tone, "Let me serve you in this."

"Urzael, no!" I finally found myself, filling the silence. They ignored my voice, like I wasn't even there, and suddenly all eyes of the angelic maidens burned me. I had known earlier that the end was upon us, but I hadn't thought it would end like this, forced to watch as my commander undid my best friend and brother right in front of me. (Briefly, fleetingly, I wished for Tyrael. His reassurances, his strength. But I knew that wherever Tyrael was, I would not be going.)

Malthael methodically set another hand on Urzael's shoulder, "Chief lieutenant, will you serve me, command my army of death?" He was firm formality, ceremonial. It was a little like a ceremony, I supposed. Urzael had always liked those.

"Yes."

"Will you help me save all of the High Heavens, end the threat humanity poses, for eternity?"

"Yes."

(I wondered how the High Heavens would remember us. I wondered if our existence was just a footnote in history.)

"Then," and the room began to darken, shadows convalesced, "I name you my Harbinger of Death," and Urzael disappeared. A sound filled the air, not unlike a shriek, and flames of blue ignited. There was an arm, then, and a wing, and an explosion of energy that left me reeling. When I looked back, the Urzael I knew (and loved) was gone. I could say that Death took him, if I was feeling metaphorical. The man that stood now was tall, muscles wide, blue flames licking from under his hood. His wings protruded from his flesh, bone-skin outcroppings that looked horrific. He turned to me with a heave and a thud. 

"Harbinger," I said. Maybe it was a greeting, something for a first meeting. Inside, I mourned for my brother, letting myself quietly fall apart. I held furtively to the scented memory of winter's wind.

"Aerael, sister," His voice hissed, static, no longer the tune that helped me hold a chord, "Join us." 

An outstretched hand. His palm dwarfed mine. If he wanted to, he could easily crush my throat, and be done with it. I flicked my gaze up. He had killed my brother, in a sense, taken him in flames like Mildgyth. The thought tasted bitter in my mouth, like poison.

"No," and I stepped back.

But Malthael was behind me, like he had been there all along, as I bumped into his form. He still smelled of parchment, and home. A part of me wanted to sob. 

"Aerael," and his hands were on my shoulders too, cold like death, like the ashes of a burnt library, "I urge you to reconsider."

"I have considered _enough_ , Malthael," I retorted, shoving his hands off, pretending I wasn't terrified, "I'm leaving."

I hurried out of the room before anyone could stop me, and took the halls in a sprint. I knew, deep down in my soul, that I could not outrun them. I wouldn't be able to. But, I would try. 

The corridors I ran down were all the same in my mind, utterly silent and desolate of life. Like a graveyard. I didn't have a plan, couldn't escape, and it's an interesting feeling when you're being chased by the people you love. Finding the correct words would be hard, but I suppose hopelessness and betrayal cover it well. 

I made it into the courtyard, blanked by snow, and that's when I stopped, my time up. Meet your end with dignity, and all that. I knelt down, crunching the snowdrifts, staring up at the sky. If I reached, I could believe someone might see me. Auriel, perhaps, maybe she'd hear my pleas and cries for hope. But, ah, I knew no one would. They didn't notice when I was lost in Pandemonium. Why would they even think of Sanctuary?  
(I don't blame them, you must understand. I never blamed them.)

Malthael sat down beside me, like this was a normal thing. Just two friends, sitting in an ice storm, talking about genocide.

"Did I frighten you?" He asked, turning to me, "If so, I am sorry."

"Don't patronize me," I shivered. Wisdom couldn't lie, but he could twist words. Lies smelled of brimstone, but his truths smelled like charcoal.

"I saw much of humanity in my time at Sanctuary," Malthael began, "They were curiosities, at first. But before long, I recognized the demons that lurked within them."

I rose an eyebrow. Defiant, my eyes spoke. So I would die here, in the snow, but not without a fight.

"Most of all, I realized that Tyrael had sacrificed himself for them, and they did not even care."

_That_ dredged up some feelings of disgust inside me, pulsating, and try as I might, my face still twitched. Malthael turned to face me.

"His sacrifice changed nothing for them. They still murder, and destroy, headless of the cost of their actions. What if next time it was Auriel, taken by despair? What if Itherael lay shattered because of their foolishness?"

_"-All Hope will be consumed by Despair-"_

_"-As Fate lies shattered forever."_

"No," I stated. I shut my eyes, bunched up my fists, "No."

"I know it to be true, sister. You must trust me," Malthael soothed. The images came unbidden, of the people I loved all dead, of the home I had cherished destroyed. A prophecy was just a prediction, but my soul knew fate, and it whispered the song of the End to me. 

I opened my misty eyes. Traitorous, my mouth, as it began to speak. 

"What would Tyrael think?" I rasped. It was getter harder and harder to remember why I was resisting. I grasped blindly to Tyrael's name, his hopes and dreams, bundling them tight against my heart. 

"Tyrael destroyed the Worldstone to protect those he loved. He was simply... misguided, in his notions. The only way left is the destruction of humanity. It's what he would have wanted," Malthael assured. And, would Tyrael have wanted this? If Malthael said so, then perhaps he was right. He was so wise, he must have known something I didn't. Surely. 

"And after that," I murmured, "We could finally go home?"

Malthael wrapped a wing over my shoulder, "After we finish this task, and ensure their safety, they will welcome us back with open arms. The Crystal Arch will sing for us."

The scent of charcoal wrapped lovingly around me, intrinsic with Malthael's voice. The words sounded so alluring. I could see it, the celebration in our honor, everyone present and merry. Everyone but Tyrael. But, this was for Tyrael. He wanted this. I could bring justice to his memory, and if I died– well, more's the better.

"You would not need to kill the humans. Urzael and I would take care of the unpleasantries. You would simply have to transform their useless corpses into soldiers," and then, a secret smile, something just for me, "You are an excellent teacher. I'm sure you will find the task easy enough."

A tuft of hair bobbed in my vision, and I realized I was nodding, agreeing, accepting to the idea– the notion of wiping out an entire race. The realization was there and gone in a flash, up in smoke, smoldering ashes of a library. 

Malthael's hand was on mine, and suddenly we were up, standing on the ground. I stared, frightened, into his eyes, as a blizzard whipped around, eclipsing me in a curtain of white. I could feel my mortal form tearing apart, angelic armor restoring itself. And, I could feel that very same armor flaking away. An angel's armor is a representation of their personality. I watched as half of my arm just disappeared, into the snow, the laurel wreath on my head turning to thorns and spikes, the wings on my back drooping like a mist. 

When I reopened my eyes, I was nose to nose with Malthael. He looked so at ease, so self-assured. 

"Join me, Purveyor," He held out his arm. I nodded, suddenly breathless, accepting his arm and leaving the snow-splattered courtyard. And then we walked, back to the stone halls, back into the crippling silence. 

So I died there, in the snow, but at least I like to think I was defiant.


	10. Act Two: A Cappella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I turned the facts over in my mind as I left the tavern, and walked down the beaten cobblestone road, until the tavern itself was a speck on the horizon and the sun too had begun to descend..."
> 
> And thus begins the second arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Cappella: _Unaccompanied. To sing in a solo style, without other instruments or voices._

Time passed. I couldn't tell how long, as time has little meaning to an immortal. Seasons changed, though, winter coming and going. I wandered from town to town, laying down preliminary plans, asking around and prodding for information. As far as anyone could tell, I was just another human. I could have forgone the disguise entirely, but, I rather enjoyed it. No one had to know. 

My journeying took me all the out to the Farlands, into deserts and mountains. When I came back, time had passed yet again. The lands so familiar now looked different around me, but at least the important parts were still the same, so I didn't think about it too hard. Summer had come. Maybe that was it.

I found myself in a tavern, some nondescript town south of Westmarch, as the edges of my bright hair drifted in my vision. I toyed with the tankard in my hands, as though I would drink the ale inside at any moment, given sufficient time. I never did, though. Can't say why. 

None of the other patrons paid me much mind. All the better, my selected spot unobtrusive, letting me watch and listen. I was there on buisness, but I still took a certain amount of pleasure in the mingling. Thankfully, no one asked, and so I firmly believed that no one needed to know. 

Time passed. The old oaken clock on the wall chimed a few times, before a man stumbled into the tavern, dressed in a fine set of armor. It was familiar, in a vague way. He sat himself down at the bar, and heaved a harried sigh. I cocked an eyebrow. Seemed like a man with a problem. An interesting problem. 

"One ale," I signaled the barkeep. They slid the mug to me, which I picked up and brought to the nervous looking man at the counter. I took a seat beside him, and smiled what I hoped was a disarming smile. 

"Something on your mind?" I asked. The man accepted the beverage with a thankful nod.

"It's not much. Pre battle jitters, you know?" Which would explain why he only took careful sips of the mug, making sure he didn't get too deep in his cups. I could respect that.

"I feel you," I quirked a smile, "Where're you headed?"

The man set down the tankard– gently, like he was always mindful of his strength– "The Tomb of Rakkis."

He said the name in a tone of voice that suggested I should be equal parts awed and afraid. I made a noise that I hoped conveyed both pretty well. 

"Our leader has this Black Soulstone that we have to transport down under the marsh, tomorrow at night. It's really important. I'm just worried that something might go wrong," he sighed. That caught my attention. In fact, it sounded almost exactly like what Malthael was looking for. 

"Oh? What Order are you in?" I asked. 

"The Horadrim," and he said the name with such pride that I couldn't help but feel impressed by proxy, "There are six of us, not including our commander," then, a sheepish smile, "I've, uh, always wanted to be one, ever since I was a little kid." 

"What's your name, then?" I smiled, goodnatured, letting myself get sidetracked. 

"Lorath Nahr," the man relinquished, bashful grin, "You?"

I blinked, a touch taken aback, "Aerael."

"Oh!" And then he turned from his tankard, and examined me, "Hm. You do look similar."

"Similar to who?" I tilted my head. Had he meant Urzael at one point? 

"Our commander. You share a similar name, and, well, you look alike, kind of," And then Lorath was leaning back over his mug again, cheeks burning, "Sorry. You must get that a lot."

I didn't.

"You said you were transporting a Soulstone?" I clarified, trying to reign the conversation back. 

"Have you been out of the country?" He eyed me curiously, "I thought everyone knew."

"I was in the Farlands," I shrugged, "Buisness," which, not really a lie. 

"Well, a lot happened," he sighed deeply, "But, in the end, this Soulstone contains all of the Great Evils, extraordinarily demonic beings that were hellbent on our destruction. We have to keep it hidden, and safe." 

_That_ caught my interest, "The Great Evils?" I said in a voice that was not a surprised croak.

"Yes. Servants of the Lords of Destruction, Terror, and Hatred."

My hands carefully griped the bar to steady myself, "Who's your leader, again?" My tone was jovial. I hoped.

"Commander–"

The door to the tavern opened, "Lorath!" 

Everyone wheeled around to see who had shouted, myself included. It was a tall man, in strange armor, shaved head and familiar facial features. His stance was military, but he had the good grace to look moderately chagrined when he realized how many people he had just disturbed. My eyes slanted, because there was just something about him that I couldn't quite grasp, but my soul screamed that he was important.

"Commander!" Lorath replied, standing from his seat. I watched with blatant interest.

"There you are," the commander sighed, full of relief, baritone voice, "We've been looking everywhere for you. It's almost time."

Lorath shifted from foot to foot, embarrassed, "My apologies. I meant to just stop by for a brief moment, but then got caught up with a friend."

I almost, almost looked around to see who Lorath was referring to, until I realized he had been speaking of me. I waved to the increasingly familiar commander, "Hail to you."

The commander spared me a nod, before returning to Lorath, "Come on, then."

Lorath moved to go, but I shot out my arm, "Wait!" And went for his hand. The commander's hand brushed me instead, and I felt my entire body light up. By Anu's light! 

"Are you okay?" And then Lorath was in front of me, in front of us, as the commander looked thunderstruck as well. I cleared my throat.

"Fine," my voice cracked, "perfectly fine," then I reached out again, placing an ungloved hand on the bare section of Lorath's arm, " _Be safe_."

The skin glowed briefly at my words, a golden light, before disappearing, a holy shield. He didn't notice. I smiled graciously, and took my hand back.

"Of course!" Lorath beamed. He turned back to his commander, "We should hurry."

Said commander quickly shook his head, brushing away whatever had happened between us and sparing me a curious glance, "Yes. This way."

And then they were gone. 

I went back to my place in the corner, with my lukewarm mead and musty shadows. I stayed there for a brief time, collecting myself. The electricity of the commander's touch worried at my soul, but the energy felt too familiar to be deadly. In fact, I felt warmer than I had in decades. I turned the facts over in my mind as I left the tavern, and walked down the beaten cobblestone road, until the tavern itself was a speck on the horizon and the sun too had begun to descend. The looming forest was welcome, as I carefully maneuvered into the trees, until I was far from prying eyes and yet still I couldn't figure out who this strange man was to me.

With a _snap_ , I tore my wings from my human shell. The disguise crumbled away, into the dirt, and I spared the time to stretch. Then, I flapped once, and shot up into the sky, like a crossbow bolt, as I flew to the monastery. The landing was always the tricky part, the unkept courtyard crawling with plants nowadays, but I managed just fine. It wasn't exactly graceful, but I tucked my wings back, and strode into the stone halls. 

I walked through the silent monastery, occasionally passing by a Death Maiden. As always, their unnatural gazes bore into me, searching. But, as every other time, we passed by each other without a word. A subdued, recoiling shudder wasn't technically a word, at least not from me. Occasionally, I searched a room for Malthael. Mostly out of boredom, as I knew he was in the main chamber, never bothered leaving. But, I liked to maintain a hopeful optimism. After enough time, I entered that main chamber, having grown tired to putting it off. My formal kneel was stiff, just like every other time. 

"Malthael," I began, stitching the words together, "I have news on the Soulstone."

He looked up, carefully setting down whatever maps he had been fiddling with. Then, he strode up to me, and I never knew if he purposely meant to loom, but he did. 

"Rise," he commanded, and so I did, "And speak."

"The Tomb of Rakkis, outside of Westmarch," I pointed to the map, "An underground chamber, and a team of trained soldiers. They will be moving the Soulstone tomorrow."

Then, I paused.

"Their commander is dangerous," I decided upon, "He helped them defeat the Prime Evils," and truly, how powerful such a mortal would have to be, to do such a feat, when not even the Archangels could. Tyrael had tried, but...

"Hm," Malthael tilted his head, before resting a hand on my shoulder, the touch cold and unpleasant, "You have done well, Purveyor. We will act soon."

My smile didn't reach my eyes, "Of course, Lord Malthael."


	11. Marziale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Technically, my job was done. But there were still undead troops to reanimate, small things, so I inclined my head to Urzael, and pretended it was just like old times..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marziale: _Play in a military style, like a march._

"It is time."

Those were the words Malthael told us, before he set off to retrieve the Black Soulstone. That meant that Urzael and I had to make our way to the city of Westmarch, to begin the final stages of the plan. Half the battalion of death maidens went with Malthael, while the other half came with us. We flew largely in silence, and I didn't meet Urzael's eyes. 

Soon, Westmarch proper peaked over the horizon. A bustling city, full of life, as the sun started to set and the town began blooming with oil lanterns and torches. The closer we drew, the more I could make out. I could see the town center, clear as day, the people small in comparison. We slowed to a stop, still cloud level, to gaze upon the town.

"There," I pointed, "The Tower of Korelan," the structure resided in Westmarch Heights. The most densely populated area, I remembered.

"An excellent starting location," Urzael decided. I continued to talk, forcing the tremor from my voice, choking it into strict formality.

"Death maidens, set the first two Soul Crucibles up at opposite ends of the city."

"Why not go to the town center immediately?" Urzael rumbled. I averted my eyes, yet again, finding interest in the stars.

"Blocking off the exits is more important," I settled upon. I didn't need to lie when a version of the truth worked just as well.

Urzael glanced over, made some deep noise in his chest, but blessedly, said nothing.

My gaze still on the stars, I continued, "After the setup of the Crucibles is complete, I will leave for Pandemonium, and inform Lord Malthael."

"The moment my victory is secured, I will do the same," Urzael promised. I couldn't bring myself to look into his eyes, those empty pools of darkness, least I see the love he still held for me. For this _noble cause_. Coward, I was.

The contingents of death maidens broke away, taking the Soul Crucibles with them. I watched them fly off, before turning to Urzael, keeping a polite distance. Technically, my job was done. But there were still undead troops to reanimate, small things, so I inclined my head to Urzael, and pretended it was just like old times. We gently began to descend, landing in the tower, the creaking of wood underneath us.

"Let us begin, sister," Urzael smiled deviously. Well, I presumed that he was smiling deviously, but, well, skull face and all that. He stomped his way down the aged stairs, headless of the splintering wood and snapped boards. In comparison, I was as light and silent as a ghost. Far below, I could hear the sounds of the street, drifting upward. It was closing time for most shops, so the crowds would be wrapping up soon, returning home. We quickly reached the bottom floor, faced with a congregation of soldiers in training, their heads snapping to us at the sound of Urzael's resounding footfalls.

"Demon spawn, prepare to meet your doom!" Urzael bellowed. As expected, chaos erupted. A large portion of the soldiers charged towards Urzael. A smaller half ran for the door, either to flee in terror, or warn other guards. I sucked in a breath, and dived, skidding over the room until I reached the exit first, landing silently and blocking any escape. 

"Don't," I warned, flaring my wings wide. One brave man still charged at me, sword raised, shouting some cry of honor. I recoiled, before I ducked forward, grabbing the sides of his face. He gaped in fear, a frightful sound, and I didn't look at him, afraid I might see some of Lorath Nahr if I looked too hard. Instead, I made the mistake of glancing over to Urzael. His eyeless stare burned me, as if demanding I hurry up and get it over with. I can do this, I reminded myself, I must do this. There was a sound like paper crinkling, and then screams. 

"By the Light!" Someone cried. Maybe it was even me. The soldier's flesh dissolved into the air, with blood-curdling shrieks, until only his armor-clad skeleton remained. His jaw was still unhinged with noiseless sounds. From there, wisps of dark mist convalesced around him, forming a new body. At that point I let go, and frantically backed away, letting the revenant solider pounce upon his once comrades. If I closed my eyes, I could block out the sight of the carnage, and remind myself of why I was here. (For my family). If I covered my ears, I wouldn't need to hear Urzael's maniacal laughter, and the horrified screams. What I hadn't counted on was the smell. There was a roiling in my throat, and I made a noise not unlike a dry heave.

I forced my eyes open. The room was in ruins, a handful of reanimated soldiers, the rest empty corpses. Almost, almost did I take a deep breath, but thought better of it. I turned instead to Urzael. The blood-soaked look really did wonders for his complexion.

"I'll let you do the honors," He chuckled, a dry sound, as I leaned down to the pile of dead bodies. Most of them were soldiers, so I methodically stripped them of their flesh and set their bones to rights, my movements detached and eyes empty. A few were suitable for archers, and so I prepared them accordingly, their unerring sight and methodical hands. A standing, undead army for my troubles.

"Take these soldiers and go," I commanded, not looking up. Urzael made some thrilled noise, busting open the heavy wooden tower doors, and flooding out into the streets. The army of undead followed him. Then, the screams. I craned my neck to look outside, as Urzael slaughtered his way through Westmarch Heights. 

"Oh, Urzael," I murmured, "What happened to us?"

The silence didn't answer. 


	12. Stringendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why are you helping me?" I managed, gritting my teeth as I forced myself up off the ground. There was no reason for them to aid me, no reward I could offer them. In fact, by helping me, they were more likely to harm themselves. It didn't make sense.
> 
> But Nadiya looked at me in bemusement, like I was the one being unreasonable, and said, "Well, because it's the right thing to do, I think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stringendo: _Gradually getting faster._

Time passed.

I couldn't bring myself to leave the Tower of Korelan, with the screams and the chaos. This was not justice, and I couldn't fool myself into thinking so. But, like the coward I was, I found myself paralyzed to stop it. Each dying cry in the dark reminded me of Mildgyth, each life-ending gurgle could easily have been Lorath, and it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine each scent of terror as Urzael. Some angel I was.

I stood up. Either I left to bring news of our victory to Malthael, or I stayed in the slaughter. No matter my choice, I couldn't remain here. Not with my shame bearing heavy on every last mortal's breath. My wings flared out, as I prepared to flee. 

Pain was what greeted me. 

A gentle pain, at first. It was curious, some incessant tugging in my chest. I knocked on my armor, but it was sound and sturdy. Gradually, the pain began to increase, until I found myself hunching over, my eyes open wide. Pain was something you get familiar with as a lieutenant, but this was different. It was in my soul, in my very being, like my soul was slowly being pulled from my body. What started off as unpleasant quickly became excruciating. I wanted to scream, but there was no enemy for me to vanquish, no target for me to destroy. It would have been useless. So I was left there, hands digging into my chest, mouth gaping, as I felt some phantom blade pull my soul apart, agonizingly slow.

Until, suddenly, it stopped.

I gagged, and fell to my knees, heaving out air. The pain was still there, still grating, but it was dulled now, a consistent throb that settled in at the edge of my attention. Whatever was attacking me had stopped, at least for now. That just left me on the ground, wheezing, and I almost missed the thud on the great oaken doors. Almost.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?" A voice called. I managed to look up, but did not reply, taking in shaking gaps of air. The door was pushed open, and I hastily threw on my mortal glamor, least Urzael or anyone else see me at my weakest. 

The human that entered was unexpected, and something of a surprise. I suppose my own position, doubled over on the ground, was equally surprising.

"There's someone in here!" The mortal called. Female, dressed in tattered cloths. She rushed over to me, blocking my view of the door, bringing stained rags to my sides, to wrap around an arm that I didn't realize was bleeding. I pulled back my gloved hands from where they had been dug into my chest, and frowned.

"Nadiya, what are you doing?" Another human ran in. More tattered clothes, rusted red in color, male. The woman, Nadiya, tied off the fabric around my arm. She had a kind face, olive skin, her hair gracefully done up. She turned to the man, who I assumed was her companion of some sort, judging by the way their hands clasped one another. 

"They are injured, Balathar," Nadiya stated, nodding back to me. Balathar glanced over to my wrapped arm, to the bloodied state of my chest. His eyes were kind, too, scruff on his face, furrowed brows that belayed worry.

"I'll get the others," He decided, though reluctant. Nadiya smiled graciously, but her face fell when she returned to my wounds. I was struck with confusion.

"What..." I tried. Nadiya blinked, but quickly attempted to soothe me, mistaking my clipped words for suffering.

"It's okay. Those monsters can't get us in here," Nadiya hushed, "You're bleeding. Do you know what did this to you?"

"I don't..." I trailed off. 

Nadiya frowned again, "It's alright, you've gone through some trauma. Once we get to safety, we'll have some of the doctors there treat your wounds."

"Why are you helping me?" I managed, gritting my teeth as I forced myself up off the ground. There was no reason for them to aid me, no reward I could offer them. In fact, by helping me, they were more likely to harm themselves. It didn't make sense. 

But Nadiya looked at me in bemusement, like I was the one being unreasonable, and said, "Well, because it's the right thing to do, I think."

Balathar returned, arm wrapped around an injured fellow, two guards assisting. Nadiya patted my good arm once, before rushing on over, eyes alight with concern. I could only stand there, baffled.

"What happened?" Nadiya asked, hands hovering in the air, anxiously. Balathar carefully set the wounded man onto the ground, giving Nadiya the space she needed to work. Balathar looked haggard, rubbing at his shoulder.

"Mikhail was on his way back, when he got caught by one of the Revenants," Balathar grimaced, "Egwein and Elric fought them off, but only barely. I'm not sure if Mikhail will make it."

Nadiya's head lowered, just a touch, frantically tending to Mikhail's wounds, but her voice held a tremor, "It looks like it's just a few wounds and a broken arm. He won't be able to fight, but, he should make it."

One of the guards cursed, slamming the hilt of their sword into a wall.

"We barely fought off the handful of Revenants. There's no way we can defend a group of four, with two wounded, on our own," The guard spat, their voice low and gravely, yet still with the twinge of a female. Her guard partner thumped his shield.

"Egwein," He rumbled, "We will get to the cathedral, or die trying."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Elric," Egwein rasped.

"I can fight," I announced, my good arm gripping a formerly discarded halberd. Perhaps, in that moment, I looked like an angel, sent from the Heavens to aid them. But, I was not selfless in my motivation, which meant I would never be the hero they perceived. I had to know what had attacked my soul. I had to know what monsters they spoke of. And, if escorting them to the town center might give me that information, then it would be done. 

(And, perhaps I wanted to see them safe. Perhaps I wasn't as selfish as I would lead myself to believe.)

Egwein appraised me, "What've you got?"

"Lieutenant Aerael, at your service," A small smile, "I've trained recruits for years. I can help you get to the cathedral."

"You're a soldier?" Nadiya asked, her face lighting up with relief. I nodded.

"We'll debrief you," Elric decided, "Nadiya, Balathar, I need you both to get Mikhail ready to go. We can't stay here for much longer."

The two guards drew towards me, into a huddle of sorts, as we watched the door. I cocked an eyebrow, picking up on the last line, "Cant stay for much longer?"

"Revenants are the _least_ of our concerns if we linger," Egwein laughed, but it was bitter, mirthless. 

"We need to make our way to the cathedral. That's where the other survivors are," Elric pulled out a frayed map from somewhere, stained and tearing at the edges. He gestured to our location, "We'll be taking the side roads, for as long as we can."

"The main streets are crawling with undead," Egwein explained, before twisting her face into a scowl, "And, one of Malthael's fallen angels, if the evidence is correct." 

"Urzael," I breathed out, before I could stop myself. Both guards turned to me, and I blinked, "Urzael. He's the one you must be speaking of."

"How do you know of him?" Elric inquired. Egwein stared at me, hard.

"He was in this tower. He'll be returning soon, no doubt," I hastened to confess. 

"Burning Hells," Egwein cursed, bringing a fist down on her armor, a dulled bang, "That's just grand." 

"We'll be fine, if we hurry, and stick to the side roads," Elric reaffirmed.

"Until we have to go down the main road to get to the cathedral," Egwein drawled, gesturing to the map. It was true. Due to design, the cathedral only had one road leading up to it, a bridge. Elric inhaled, shakily, but remained firm. 

"If our new friend here can fight, we should be fine," Elric stated, rolling the map back up and clapping my shoulder. I shifted my halberd, almost imperceptibly. Their words held strength, and conviction. They reminded me of my old friends, in a way. I knew then that I couldn't fail.

Outside, there was a brief thump, followed by a series of groans. They echoed through the streets, uncanny and unholy.

"That's our cue," Elric decided, before setting his helmet back onto his head. Egwein tightened the straps of her armor, before turning to me. My own armor was still sound, despite the mortal disguise, so I simply nodded. Nadiya, Balathar, and Mikhail took places in the middle of the pack, with Elric leading, Egwein at the rear, and myself guarding the middle.

"Lets move it!" Elric barked, not unkindly, before shouldering the door open. The groans grew louder, the Revenants we heard earlier reacted to our appearance. There had to be at least a dozen of them in the streets before us. I took a deep breath, and charged.

"Upper right alleyway, go!" Elric shouted, before rushing forward, feet making decisive falls on the streaked dirt. With his shield, he expertly barreled past the Revenants that stood in our way, making a path for the civilians in our care. 

"On your left!" Egwein roared. I swung on instinct, and was rewarded with a sound of contact, my halberd catching a Revenant in the shoulder. I continued my arc, until the halberd disconnected, throwing the former solider far back. I ushered Nadiya and Balathar forward, Mikhail in their arms. Egwein brought her sword down with a series of swipes, and then was right behind us once more, our path cleared and our backs guarded.

That was just one street.

The next street was empty, so completely and utterly devoid of life that not even the wind whistled around stone. Here, silence reigned. Elric walked forward slowly, and it was hard to ignore the crunch under his feet, of bones snapping. Skeletons littered the grounds, of all sizes and shapes. Dried blood spoke volumes of what had occurred, splattered on walls and across cobblestones. Deep gashes, dug into the wood. If I closed my eyes, I could hear the echoes of the battle. But battle was generous, when the proper term was slaughter. The air was heavy with ash, and laden with fear. The weight of what I did planted itself on my shoulders, the depth of it, and I inhaled, a shuddering breath.

"What kind of monster would do this?" I quietly breathed, spoken to myself, trying to decipher my actions. Nadiya tilted her head to me, having heard my mutterings. I expected her to say something scathing, or cruel, to speak the truth.

"Well, maybe they're evil, like Diablo," She whispered, "Or, maybe even worse. Maybe they don't even realize what they did is wrong," Her voice was light and gentle, a shared secret between us. A beat of silence, before she continued, thoughtful, "Perhaps, they asked themselves that question, too. Maybe to them, we're the monsters," Nadiya's mouth twisted into some kind of wry smile, "Or, maybe I'm wrong. I've never been one for philosophy."

Nadiya returned to walking, supporting Mikhail under her arm. I didn't respond, but I think my silence was enough.

We picked our way down the side streets for an unknown amount of time. The streets were bathed in a gloomy palette, blues and blacks, sometimes with reds. An eerie glow, permeating the air. Occasionally, the silence would be broken by a howl, or a dying scream. Each road was a graveyard, littered with corpses, and an insufferable air of death.

I had hoped the Revenants were the worst we would see, the monsters I had made. Malthael had wanted the humans dead, so I tried my best to be merciful, creating loyal soldiers with unwavering value. Mortals did not deserve suffering, just because they had been born the wrong way. 

It seemed that Malthael did not share my sentiments.

"Just how many monsters in Westmarch are there?" I inevitably asked. 

"Well, there are the Revenants," Egwein began, as we slowly made our way down yet another side street, "We've seen a few already. Archer, Shield Guard."

"The Archers," Mikhail cut in. Over the hours, he had slowly grown more active and aware. He could not yet fight, but could walk on his own accord– albeit slowly. He coughed a little, grimaced, "There is no place safe from their sightless gaze. They will find you through stone, wood, and even the ground itself. And once they have quarry, they do not miss."

"They are the least of our concerns, though, if we come face to face with an Excorist," Elric reminded, his voice steady and calm as we picked our way through the ruins.

"The exorcists of Westmarch have fallen far, indeed," Egwein muttered.

"The what?" I blinked, a little lost. 

"I thought everyone knew of the exorcists of Westmarch," Nadiya titled her head to me. I frowned, but before I could say anything, she smiled, "That's fine. Balathar would be able to explain it better than I."

"Well, ah," Balathar awkwardly cleared his throat, "They specialized in removing demonic possession. By custom, they arrived in darkness, clad in black cloaks and the like. They worked in secret, extracting the demons that dwelled within their subjects."

Mikhail twisted his face into a mournful scowl, interjecting, "Now _Malthael_ has turned them, and they roam the city in their inhuman forms, stripping the souls from all they encounter," He rasped. 

I flinched back, the slight movement only noticeable to myself, as memories of the Butchers came back to me. The Revenants I had made seemed paltry in comparison now.

"Executioners," Mikhail began, breathed out, followed by clutching at his chest. Nadiya and Balathar hurried to his aid, while Elric and Egwein bristled at the name.

"Executioners," Elric spat, "Most vile, notorious criminals of Westmarch. Each one, worst than the last: heartless murderers who'd butchered countless men, women, and children."

Elric fell silent after that, returning his attention to the task at hand with determination and discontent. Mikhail, having recovered enough, took up the last of the tale.

"Malthael drew them up, all of them, from the deepest, darkest cells we had. 

In death, Malthael birthed them in forms that matched their twisted, callous souls, creating perfect instruments of slaughter."

"The Executioners have earned their name, I could guess," I mumbled. Though the conversation continued, I found my mind worlds away. What monstrous creations had Malthael birthed? What horrors had he unleashed, the mortals like lambs to a slaughter? The Malthael I had known, had followed and fought for, had never been one for needless cruelty. But, perhaps like me, he had been changed. Perhaps he too died in the snow, on that bitter winter's night, high up in the mountains...

The world around me began to grow silent, and dim. Standing there, I found my strength failing. Bit by bit, my willpower seemed to fade, sapped by some unknown force. My breaths became shallow, and I slowly folded in on myself. What use was there in going on? What purpose? Tyrael was gone, never to return, and revenge wouldn't bring him back. Nothing would bring him back. There was no home for me in the High Heavens, and no hope for return. It would be fate, to die here, alone. A creature like me deserved no better. I rose an arm to my chest, suddenly impossibly weak, and my vision began to darken. The world went black, and I exhaled for the last–

"Aerael! Duck!"

A voice tore through the darkness, piercing the smothering silence, and I gasped for air. My lungs were heaving, color flooding back to me, my vision returning as I collapsed onto the ground. I could see the others, too, in various states of incapacitation. All, except for Mikhail. He stood, spear in front of himself, stance wavering only slightly as he stared down some unseen foe. I blinked, straining my eyes, until I could just barely make out a looming mass of shadows. Mikhail roared, wordless battle cry, and drove his spear down. The inky blackness writhed for a moment, before fleeing, an almost pitiful screeching noise as it disappeared into the night. Silence returned once more. I struggled up to a knee, still frazzled, like I had been underwater for hours and only just resurfaced. Off to the side, I could see Elric and Egwein recovering. Nadiya and Balathar, too. 

"What...was that..." I mustered, grabbing my halberd and forcing myself to my feet. Mikhail glanced over to me, now leaning heavily on his spear.

"That...was a Shadow of Death," Mikhail moved to face the now vacant alleyway entrance, "They sap your strength, and your will, until you feel there is no other choice but to give in."

He turned to Elric, "Next time, watch which skeletons you shove aside."

"How do you know so many of these things?" I hadn't meant for the words to sound accusatory, but I was tired, and so did not have the patience to blunt my tone, "You're quite well versed, for a guard."

Mikhail shot a glare my way, "I was at the West Gate earlier. The first location attacked by a Death Maiden. I lost all of my squad, and most of my friends, to these monsters. I think I know enough."

A huff of air left my nose, derisive, before I shook my head in surprise. Mikhail's hostile glare melted into realization, too, and he hobbled over to where the other guards were recovering.

"Exorcists feed on conflict. That means there's one close," Mikhail frowned, "We should get moving."

Egwein and Elric, having already collected themselves during the brief spat, were busy helping Nadiya and Balathar to their feet. Balathar's eyes grew worried.

"An Exorcist? But this is the Market District," Balathar peered out the end of the alley, "They only ever dealt in Residential Zones."

"Unless someone lead it here," Mikhail informed. 

"Now who would do that?" Nadiya murmured, gingerly standing up, careful to mind her abdomen.

"An idiot," Egwein snorted, blunt. 

We returned to our formation, though much more cautious than prior. Elric made sure to verify the safety of each skeleton we would have to pass, and Egwein kept razor eyes on our back line. In the middle, Mikhail and I gripped our polearms, ready to attack at the first sight of an enemy. With Nadiya and Balathar safely in the center, we moved.


	13. Vigoroso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The concrete jungle had gone quiet, and we were not the predators it feared..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vigoroso: _To play with emphasis, spirit, vigour or energy_

For some time, we walked. Though, shorter than earlier, I knew for a fact. We soon came across some rubble blocking the side road, forcing us to venture out to the main street. Without any people, the cobblestone paths seemed much lonelier. Of the handful of shops we could see, half were untouched and vacant. Their window were still unlatched, doors still opened. It was eerie, as though the owners would walk out at any minute for closing time. Though, more disconcerting were the shops that had been destroyed. Scenes of devastation, wood streaked with blood, glass shattered like snow on the ground. The corpses, tucked away in hiding spots, sprawled out on the stones. The smell, I could at least say, was familiar. Familiar, in the sense that I had smelled it once before, in my first encounter with the Death Maidens. A blast of decay, mixed with fear and confusion. Above all else, the absence of sound was still poignant. Even more so now than before. This was the silence of the forest when a predator lurks in the shade.

Agonizingly slow, we made our way down the street. The unearthly blue glow of magic, drifting through the air. Shadows, tugging at edges. It was as tense as could be, each breath sounding as loud as a sword blow in the noiseless void.

_Crash_

The instant we heard the sound of glass shattering, we sprang to the defense. Elric's sword went up, and he squared his shoulders, bracing himself. Mikhail and I pivoted, facing opposite ways, our respective arms at the ready. Egwein, brandishing her sword, ready to lay her life down. I could feel Nadiya shaking, hearing Balathar's fear.

I expected a monster. I expected terror beyond mortal imagination. 

What I got was...

Some random human man. 

He bumbled and stumbled his way out of a store window, destroying the glass without care. He was a spindly looking fellow, arms a little too long for his torso, hair greasy and unkept. In his hands, he bore a large, burlap sack. He looked around for a moment, before spotting us. In his surprise, he promptly fell over.

"By the Light," I heard Elric whisper. I lowered my guard, just a hair, but didn't fully relax until I heard Egwein's disgusted hiss, as she finished Elric's thought.

"It's that idiot, Jimothy."

Elric and Egwein broke formation, stomping over to the temporarily incapacitated Jimothy. In lacking anything else to do, the rest of us decided to follow suit.

"Jimothy," Elric began, a disappointed, yet professional frown on his face, "What are you doing out here? You should be inside, somewhere safe."

"And a good evening to you too, officer," Jimothy bowed, having extracted himself from the ground. He turned to look at Egwein, "Officers, I should say."

"Cut the crap, Raynor," Egwein groaned, "What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, you know, I was just on my way back home, when I realized I left my things in the shop," Jimothy explained, picking the burlap sack back up, "And, well, when I went to retrieve them, this whole nasty business started. So I hid, and waited for it all to blow over."

Elric and Egwein both shared a look. I could tell they didn't exactly believe Jimothy, but they didn't have any grounds to call him out. Jimothy seemed to realize this as well, and he took a moment to look perfectly punchable– until he tripped over a loose brick and was sent tumbling to the ground. I glanced down at the fallen hero. Jimothy's bag had survived the stumble and fumble, but several objects had fallen out. A gold necklace, a pair of fine leather gauntlets, and even a set of etched porcelain dinner plates. I leaned down, picking up a silk brassiere, and offering it back to him.

"You dropped this."

Jimothy's face paled, while Egwein's grimace swapped to a shark's grin.

"There are two explanations here, Raynor," Egwein began, taking a certain amount of cruel pleasure in watching the man sweat, "Either, you're secretly into some very weird stuff and just now inherited a large fortune. Or, you stole all of this."

Jimothy did an awkward hand motion, snapping his fingers and pointing them at us, while visibly sweating. It was clear he didn't have an answer we wanted to hear. I looked down the rest of the shops, noting the large portion with shattered windows and missing goods. Jimothy did the hand gesture again.

"Alright, son. Put the bag down, you're coming with us," Elric sighed. 

"T-to jail?!" Jimothy squeaked, all his suaveness gone in an instant. 

"We'll discuss your punishment later. For now, we're taking you to the other survivors," Elric nodded, leaning down to help Jimothy up. I turned to Mikhail.

"Does this happen often?" I inquired. Mikhail shook his head.

"Only with Jimothy."

"Poor boy," Nadiya hummed, "His parents meant to name him Timothy, but messed up the forms," Nadiya turned to Balathar, "Which is why you won't be the one doing the forms when Sidhar is born."

"Vidhar is a respectable name," Balathar said, in the tone of someone who had had this discussion many times before. 

Nadiya looked pleasantly perplexed, "Bal, you just mashed together the names Vidasar and Sidhar."

I tuned out the conversation and turned back to Mikhail, who was now watching Jimothy with tired eyes.

"Will he..." I trailed off.

"He'll be fine," Mikhail laughed, a little, followed by a cough, "They let him stew on his punishment, but it's always community service."

Egwein and Elric took positions up at the front, while Mikhail and I returned to the middle. Jimothy wrung his hands together, a step behind Nadiya and Balathar. We walked. Without words to fill it, the eerie silence returned. It seemed denser now, more unnerving. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, but every time I turned around, there was nothing. Even as we finally made it to the side street, I didn't feel safe. 

The concrete jungle had gone quiet, and we were not the predators it feared. 

There came a time, though, when I stopped. I held a hand to my chest, twisting my head around, trying to catch the scent on the breeze. I quietly realized three things, in rapid succession. Firstly, there was soul magic at work nearby. Secondly, the vague, drifting smell of terror filled the air- more so than normal. Third, Jimothy was gone.

"Wait," I commanded. The others turned around. Egwein eyes flitted about, before locking onto the empty space where Jim should have been.

"Don't tell me you need a bathroom break," Egwein frowned, "Wait. Where's Raynor?"

"I...I don't know," I blinked, a little confused. I placed a hand on a nearby wall, scrutinizing, "That's odd..."

"When did you last see him?" Egwein sighed. Like Jimothy was a lost toy, left on a bench and forgotten. 

"No, you don't understand," I frowned, "When I said, _That's odd_ , it's because I didn't hear him leave."

"So, what, he just disappeared? Maybe he just ditched us to get out of trouble," Egwein attempted, crossing her arms. Elric watched with a crease in his brows, muling the situation over.

"Wait," Elric gripped his shield, speaking to himself, "The merchant shops. The bodies there were sucked dry," He rose his head, "Something harvested their souls. Something has been stalking us since we entered there," His eyes became fiery, "Something that could kill without a sound. Something that is used to working in darkness, in silence, and waiting."

One by one, our expressions sobered.

"An Exorcist," Mikhail breathed out. Nadiya and Balathar turned as pale as sheets. My chest hitched. Egwein and Elric, though, bore different reactions. 

"I have to go back for him," Elric stated, strapping his shield to his back.

"Elric, you can't," Egwein hissed, "It's already too late."

"No, it's not," Elric replied, scowling, "It's only too late once you give up."

"Listen to yourself. Are you really going to go running back, blind, just for one person? We're almost to the Cathedral, and you'd abandon us?" Egwein retorted. There was red coloring her face, but her eyes were blue, an ocean of sadness and remorse. 

"I made his family a promise, Egwein. I don't intend to break it!" Elric snapped, slamming his shield against the wall. The sound rung through the street, and I realized I had stepped back from the conflict, an arm raised protectively to shield Nadiya and Balathar. Mikhail, too, did the same. Egwein seemed to be reaching the end of her tether, took a step forward, stance wild.

"Don't try and be a hero, you idiot–" Wrong words. Elric, hearing that, turned and bolted, rushing back to the merchant shops and leaving us behind.

"Elric! Stop!" Egwein tried, calling out into the mist, "Elric!"

"Quiet down," I whispered, sharp tone, "Or you'll wake the whole block."

Egwein stuttered. She looked over to us, took heed of the dense and dangerous silence, and paled.

"I'm sorry, I-" She shook her head, "No, that moron. He's going to get himself killed. I have to stop him!"

Before Egwein could run after Elric, I stopped her, having closed the distance. 

"Your sense of valor is commendable, but misplaced," I frowned, "You need to stay here."

"Stay here?" Her eyes went wide, face morphed into a snarl, "I'm not letting my partner get himself killed over some false sense of justice."

"I know," I nodded, placating, "That's why I'll go after him."

"You?" She blinked, owlish, "But–"

"When I told you earlier that I trained recruits, I may have left something out. Specifically, that I trained recruits to fight demons," I pointed my halberd down the alley, "Demons, such as these. I need you to stay here, and protect the others, while I go slay this monster."

Egwein seemed mollified by my words, running an armored hand down her face, "Alright. But, if you don't return–"

"Then, you make a run for the cathedral," I stated. Egwein bristled momentarily, but my hard stare stopped her, "Please."

"Fine. Fine!" She growled, "But, you'd better come back, and with Elric. I'll never forgive you if don't!" 

"I'll return with shield, or on it," I smiled, momentarily, lip twitching at the corner as I remembered the words Imperius had told me– what seemed so long ago. Egwein nodded once, firmly, before moving back to Mikhail and the others. My halberd held fast, I stood for a moment, before sprinting as fast as I could after Elric. Unlike human armor, my angelic armor did not slow me down, allowing me to make up all the lost time of my conversation in an instant. I ran, no rest needed, growing closer to the origin of the soul magics I had sensed. Too, the scent of terror extrapolated. Unlike before, however, I heard sounds this time. More specifically, the clashing of metal, and screams of rage. 

"No! No!" That was Elric's voice. It sounded torn, and I could catch the faint remnants of tears at the end. He continued to bellow, screaming at his foe, and I rushed into the street to see a horrible sight indeed. 

An Exorcist.

The Exorcist was twice as tall as any man, hovering off the ground through some ghostly power. Its skin was stretched taunt over bone and muscle, flesh a sickly pale color. Its arms were abnormally long, reaching to the ground, enlarged hands sporting wicked nails. Armor adorned bulged shoulders, linking to cover its upper face. Elric was only a few feet away, protectively hunched over something, still yelling obscenities and waving his shield around. Elric was injured, that much was evident, but the Exorcist didn't seem damaged in the slightest. It reared back, and I could feel the familiar channeling of soul magic. I growled, and acted on instinct, throwing my halberd forward. It sailed through the air, until it lodged in the Exorcist's chest. I smiled savagely, while the Exorcist let out a keen. It searched around, until it spotted me, and screamed with unhinged jaw. 

The monster's attention secured, I dove to the left, picking up a discarded sword and pointing. I didn't spare a moment for any useless blabber or meaningless boasts, charging forward and slashing down. The sword met its mark, and I jumped back, victorious.

Or, I would have, had the wound not healed right before my eyes. Like a novice, I made the mistake of pausing, trying to figure out what had happened. The Exorcist reached for me with alarming speeds, grabbing my left arm like a vice.

"Unclean," The Exorcist murmured, a thousand dissonant voices. I twisted, until I heard a disgusting crunch. I glanced back in horror at my mortal arm, held aloft, now torn away. Like paper torn away, the place where my arm should have been now revealed the angelic form underneath, glowing in a faint golden light. The Exorcist looked surprised, and I retaliated, driving my angelic arm deep into its chest. It screeched, unholy abomination, but I refused to relent. I lashed around, until I found the inky blackness that signified the Exorcist's warped soul. Then, with a howl of effort, I clenched down. I felt the strings of the soul snapping, torn away, until I yanked my hand back, and the grounds around us went deathly silent. 

The Exorcist, or its body, hovered shakily for a moment. Then, in lacking the power of a spirit any longer, the body collapsed onto the ground, a heavy thud. I watched the empty shell begin to flake away, up into the air like dust, until only the armor remained, my halberd falling onto the cobblestones. I breathed heavily, but didn't miss the sound of choked anguish behind me.

"Elric!" I spun around, remembering I wasn't alone. Elric was still on the ground, but now he was draped across the fallen body like a valkyrie. I rushed over and fell to my knees, prepared to speak, but what I saw made any words die in my throat.

"Jimothy," I whispered. He was laid out on the ground, shallow gasps of air, eyes staring at nothing. There was blood on his face, but I quickly realized it was coming from Elric, who was beaten and bruised but still frantic.

"Wake up, kid, wake up," Elric pleaded. Jimothy was unresponsive, even as Elric yanked on his hand, shook his shoulders. I placed my left hand on Jimothy's chest, and found my suspicions confirmed; the Exorcist had done his job. Jimothy would not survive for much longer. 

"Elric," I attempted. Elric didn't even look at me, still trying to revive Jimothy. My eyes were heavy with sorrow, but I cupped Elric's face, gently turning him to look at me.

"Elric, it's time you said your goodbyes," I informed quietly, "He won't last much longer."

"No!" His face was full of regret, and rage. I knew that expression well. I took my hand back, placed it on Jimothy's chest, until I brushed against his soul. Like beckoning a drowsy child, I drew Jimothy's consciousness back to the surface. His eyes regained some light, and I turned to Elric.

"You haven't got long."

Elric, blessedly, didn't ask how I did it. He took a deep breath. 

"Jimothy Raynor. Hey, buddy, it's me. Your uncle," Elric smiled, "I just want you to know that your parents are so proud of you, kiddo. _I'm_ so proud of you. I know your life hasn't been easy, but, you did good," A minute sniffle, "You did real good."

"You really think so?" Jimothy asked, voice quiet and out of breath. Elric gave a brave smile.

"Think so? I _know_ so."

Jimothy hummed a little, closed his eyes, "I'm sorry for running away. Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Yeah, champ," Elric clasped Jimothy's hand, "I will."

Jimothy chest rose, one last time, before falling motionless. I removed my hand, letting Elric have a moment of silence, while I methodically went to work on covering my arm up. When the last of the cloth was wrapped around my lower arm, I stood up. Elric's head was still bowed low. 

"This is all my fault," He murmured. I stopped, and dipped my head, extending my hand towards him.

"No," I stated, helping him up, "It's not."

I slung Elric's good arm over my shoulder, minding his bruised ribs, assisting his walk. We gathered our weapons in silence, until we slowly made our way back to our group.

"I wasn't lying, you know," I whispered, "This isn't your fault."

"How could you believe that?" Elric laughed, mirthless. 

"Malthael did this," I reminded, gazing up at the sky, "Malthael, and his fallen angels. They brought death to Westmarch, and they killed Jimothy, not you."

"You...you're right," Elric realized, "They did, didn't they?"

"Yes," I nodded, stepping over some rubble, "Only a monster would do something like this. You must believe that. And, no matter what happens, they will face Justice. I promise."

Elric seemed satisfied with that answer. I could tell he wasn't done blaming himself, but at least I had given him an enemy. A face to place the blame on.

_Don't blame yourself_ , I wanted to say. _Blame me, instead._

We finally returned to the others. At the sight of us, Egwein rushed forward, taking Elric off my hands.

"You idiot!" She seethed, "Never do that again! And you're injured, too!" When she saw that Jimothy was not with us, she paused, "Where's Raynor?"

Silence. I bowed my head.

"Oh, By the Light, I'm so sorry," Egwein frowned, now gently helping Elric along, "Nadiya, could you?..."

"Yes, of course," Nadiya nodded, hurrying to tend to Elric. She glanced at the arm he cradled to his chest, and frowned, "It's broken, but I should be able to set it and put it in a sling. You'll have to be careful."

I took a place beside Mikhail and Balathar, watching the scene, and let out tired exhale.  
"What happened to _your_ arm?" Mikhail questioned. I glanced down, before awkwardly hiding it behind my back, like a guilty child.

"The Exorcist just barely got me, it's nothing," I waved it off. Balathar and Mikhail nodded. 

"Did, ah, did he suffer?" Balathar inquired. I blinked, while Balathar clarified, "The Exorcist. I had a friend who was one, and I, well..."

"I made it quick," I promised. Balathar seemed relieved by that, before hurrying to help Nadiya and the others. Mikhail and I stood in companionable silence.

"It's a little sad, isn't it," Mikhail asked.

"What?" I tilted my head.

"The fallen angels," Mikhail shrugged, "Malthael."

"Why do you say that?" 

"He who fights monsters should be careful, least he become one. Or, however that quote goes."

I blinked.

"I suppose you're right."

The silence returned, only for a moment, before it was time to leave.

"Mikhail, Aerael. We're ready to move out," Egwein called. Mikhail and I nodded, before catching up with them. Mikhail's words echoed in my head, but I pushed them aside, staring diligently at the map Elric produced. 

"The cathedral is close. We follow the side roads for as far as we can, but then we have to take the main road to enter," Elric explained. We all listened intently. 

"If all goes well, we'll only hit a few Revenants, and then we'll be home free," Egwein grinned.

"And if everything doesn't go well?" 

"Well," Egwein frowned, "I guess that's when Malthael descends from the sky and slaughters us. But, I like to be optimistic."

"What about the Death Maidens?" Balathar inquired, "Aren't you worried that one might be there?"

"There won't," I shouted, butting in, before clearing my throat awkwardly, "Uh, I mean, I doubt it."

"We haven't got long. Come on, let's go," Egwein unsheathed her sword, while Elric readied his shield. We returned to formation, the correct one, and set off


	14. Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...In an instant, the anticipation was replaced by surprise. The Revenants had finally noticed us, it seemed..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crescendo: _Gradually getting louder._

Slowly, the roads began to converge, side streets and alleyways all joining together to meet the town center. Here, the destruction was much sparser. Shops remained relatively intact, cobblestones unmoved and wood unrotten. The street lamps were lit, casting a warm light on our surroundings. And, for once, the scent of death was minimal. The fear and terror still prospered, gaining in strength the closer we came to the cathedral, but the burnt ashen tang that mortal death brought was thankfully absent. 

Mostly.

It seemed my command to leave this area alone had worked. But, for how much longer, I didn't know. 

"We're almost there, be ready for anything," Elric announced. I tilted my head up to the sky, watching the setting sun and the slowly encroaching blanket of twilight. Absently, I touched my chest. Something was trying to draw me closer, causing my soul to hum and murmur. Something ancient. Perhaps it was the cathedral. 

Perhaps it was something else entirely.

We walked, finally entering the town center proper. It was circular in design, with a dried fountain in the center, flanked by several stalls and stores. The cobblestone paths were well-maintained, and the street lamps glowed warmly in the coming night. I glanced over at one of the stalls, blinking at the sight of vegetables and fresh goods, still left out. It served to remind me that only hours ago, the city of Westmarch had been alive. We continued on, until we slowly began to approach the bridge. It was situated over a large river, a steep drop that would spell certain death. It was also the only way to get to the cathedral itself. I could see the lights inside the cathedral, flooding out of the windows, inviting. With our destination and safe haven in sight, I almost felt hope.

"Wait, I see something," Egwein hissed, gesturing forward. A fog rolled across the bridge, obscuring anything from view. Elric rose his shield up, and I glanced over, trying to figure out what Egwein had seen. But the mist was as impenetrable as before, and even my sight could not pierce it.

"What? What is it?" Mikhail asked, readying his spear. I closed my eyes, inhaling, trying to see if the breeze would reveal anything. I scrunched up my nose when a scent not unlike rotted wood drifted my way. 

"Revenants," I exhaled, opening my eyes and squinting, "A lot of them."

As I said that, the fog began to thin, gradually revealing the shambling forms of the undead. Archers, Shield Guards, Revenants of every variety; an army of Reapers. They twitched and sputtered, jerking around, filling the air with their inhuman groans. They ambled, as though trying to get into the cathedral, but somehow thwarted. The bridge was large enough to contain them all, but the path to the church was not clear, not by any means. A light rain sprinkled onto our heads as we stopped, staring. We were far enough away to be safe, and wouldn't dare go any closer. 

"Well," Elric frowned, "This is a problem," And true, it was, as we eyed the horde warily. 

"Can we sneak past them?" Mikhail suggested, studying the monsters. Balathar, too, kept a studious eye on the nightmarish creatures. 

"Impossible," I shook my head, "The moment the wind blows the wrong way, we'd be done for."

"Afraid we'd fall off?" Egwein rose an eyebrow. I shook my head. 

"Aspects of Wisdom have a perfect sense of smell," I tapped my nose, once, "And so, these soldiers do too."

"Mikhail, you were stationed around here," Elric turned to Mikhail, "Is there any other way to get to the cathedral?"

Mikhail glanced back over to the edge of the bridge. The waves churned ominously below, smashing up against pillars of rock, and plumes of fog rose off the water. He let out a shaky, false laugh, "Not unless we want to swim."

The gravity of the situation settled in, like a uncomfortable, wool blanket. The bitter scent of despair wafted around. I almost allowed myself to stew in it, before Nadiya spoke up.

"No."

She squared her shoulders, inhaled decisively, "We can't give up hope, not now."

Murmurs of agreement rose through our group, and Elric gave a small smile, fire rekindled in his eyes. 

"She's right. This will be difficult, but not impossible," Elric stated, shield in his grasp, courage burning brightly. Egwein grinned, boisterous and fierce, and she brought her armored fist to her plated chest with a clang.

"A test of our valor, then," She laughed. Her grin was a deadly thing. It reminded me of– well. 

"Remain in formation," Elric commanded. He turned to me, lowering his voice, "If we're split up, get Nadiya and Balathar to the cathedral first."

"You have my word," I promised. Elric seemed satisfied with that, before taking in a deep breath, and lowering his shield. He looked ready to defend against the world, then, his shoulders squared and his face firm. Our plan was half-baked, but a plan was still a plan, and so I braced myself for anything.

"Let's move out!" Elric barked. Steadily, we began to march unto the bridge. Our footfalls were both decisive and yet cautious, our grips on our weapons knuckle-white. As the air grew thicker, dense with clouds of white, our breathing came in short bursts– partly from the humidity, partly from fear. The anticipation of the unknown was the worst part.

_"Gaaargh." ___

In an instant, the anticipation was replaced by surprise. The Revenants had finally noticed us, it seemed.

__"Brace!" Elric shouted. We tightened our formation, quickened our pace, and began the battle. Elric, with the aid of his shield, bore the brunt of the attacks– throwing the monsters aside, or bashing them onto the ground. Mikhail and I worked in tandem, our pole arms making space around the group. If any Revenants drew too close, we could dispatch them without problem. Fighting on the ground was not something I particularly enjoyed, but with every enemy felled came the reassurance that I was still good at it. Mikhail, with spear thrusts and lunges, was always one step ahead of the undead soldiers. Egwein's place at the back of the group ensured our safety, that we wouldn't be swarmed without warning, and she made sure to deal with any Revenants that Elric would send her way. With her battle cries, and the way she struck each blow, it seemed she was made for the heat of the conflict. A dancing flame of valor, bright and loud._ _

__"We're almost there!" Elric yelled. I could see the church looming in the mist, dark edges with the warmth of oil lamps and fire. It was almost as bright as the sudden light to my left, the–_ _

__"Watch out!" I warned, before slamming to the right, pushing Nadiya and Balathar into Mikhail. There was no time for confusion, before the cobblestones where we had been collapsed, falling down into the echoing deep of the sea. The waves called out mournfully, swallowing the rubble. I snapped my head to the source of the light, watching the Revenant Archer cock another arrow. I glanced back to Elric and Egwein, thankfully safe, but now split apart from us._ _

__"El–" I attempted, reaching out. But Elric only held his shield tighter, didn't look over to me._ _

__"Get to the church. Go!" He demanded. I remembered the promise I had made him, and yet it now filled me with regret. But, the roars of the undead began to grow closer, and so I did as I had said I would. I placed myself at the back of the group, Mikhail at the front, with Nadiya and Balathar still in the center. Mikhail, thankfully, began to improvise, still effortlessly wielding his spear. My halberd proved less useful in the back, but we managed. Elric and Egwein, too, slowly began to cleave a path to the cathedral. The battlements in front of the church, makeshift and wooden, were our last obstacle. Mikhail and I heaved relieved sighs at the sight, helping Nadiya and Balathar over. I turned around, for one last reassurance that Elric and Egwein would make it safely. And again, they were fine._ _

__But, interestingly, my nose twitched. Rotted wood, burnt ash, sulfur. A potent combination of smells. They were accompanied by the base scents of blood, metal, and flesh. Again, my nose twitched, but this time from my face twisting into a grimace. The acrid tang was familiar, but uncommon enough that I was having difficulty placing it. Half-heartedly, I cursed that I had not been born of Fate, with pure vision and sight. That I might pierce the fog, and see what was coming. Because Heavens knew, as my instincts cried out, it was nothing good._ _

__The heavy _thud_ was a good indication of size. A concussive _stomp stomp_ on the bridge, a dark shape rising from the mist. If I truly had blood, it would have frozen at with the creeping tremor in my hands. Even the Revenants had turned to look. Elric and Egwein redoubled their efforts to reach us, but they weren't close enough yet. The distance that had seemed so minuscule before was now an ocean's length. _ _

__A bellowing roar slammed the wind from our lungs, air stolen like some wraith visiting in the night. My eyes went wide, suddenly fearful, golden and captivated by terror._ _

__"A Butcher?" I breathed, mind racing circles to deny the sight. Surely, Malthael hadn't summoned one of the most gruesome demons of the Hells. The monsters that ate recruits– took the young and the injured for snacks, bathed in screams and bloodshed for fun. No. I tried to bring my gaze back into focus, but everything was blurred, paralyzed with the memories. Was it the same one from the Cathedral? Had it returned to finish the job? Would it kill me, then go after my brother? Or– or had it already finished the job, crushed his wings and sucked the light from his form, the cries of a life ended too soon._ _

__"No!" I heard someone scream, realizing after a moment that it had been me. I tried to breathe in, found it undoable, until Mikhail grabbed my shoulder. His eyes were searching, but filled with some kind of knowledge, a hidden insight he held. There was a beat of silence, where I collected myself in the shadow of his calm determination, before he released me and turned back._ _

__"Executioner!" He warned, shouting as loud as he could to reach over the sudden cacophony din of the Revenants. Elric and Egwein nodded, but still weren't close enough. Cold clarity returned to me. The Executioner began to trudge its way towards Elric and Egwein, towards the cathedral, with all the little humans inside. Before I knew it, I was walking forward, halberd ready._ _

__"Mikhail, stay with Nadiya and Balathar," I commanded, my voice harsh metal, like a hammer blow, like the cruel depths of the sea, "Guard them."_ _

__"I can't let you do that," Mikhail tried, pained to deny my actions, "We–"_ _

__"I wasn't asking for your permission!" I snapped. Executioner and Butcher. The names were familiar, and so were they. Malthael had made a monster, based off of the worst nightmares the Hells could have made. The sounds, the sights, and even the smells, all were the same. I wouldn't let another Butcher, one with a different name and design, slaughter my comrades. My friends. My halberd swung down, connecting with a Revenant, while I shoved an Archer away. My entire body was focused, intent on getting to Egwein and Elric in time. The Revenants, as if having sensed my desire, seemed deathly determined to stop me. Shield Guards encircled me. I roared, and fought without rest, but Shield Guards were the best of the soldiers, most well-equipped and unmoving of any I had made. A halberd can only take one so far, when you're stuck on the ground. And so it was then that I found my progress blocked, stalled, in spite of my best efforts. For the rare one felled, another Shield Guard would replace it. I was not in any danger, of course, but it was not myself that I worried for. I watched helplessly as Elric was separated from Egwein, left stuck with his shield raised and the enemies drawing closer, Executioner laughing cruelly._ _

__"No!" I threw another Shield Guard aside, hearing the snap of aged bone on the stones. I turned, spearing a Revenant that had tried to sneak behind, swinging the halberd to knock over an Archer to the right. I fought, and fought, but it seemed useless. I was no closer to Egwein, or Elric. Any illusions of being a hero were fading fast; I would be found lacking, yet again._ _

__But, where I had failed, Egwein would not._ _

__"Elric!" In a feat of either advanced military prowess, or extreme stupidity, Egwein launched herself to Elric, taking a place beside him and cutting through a swath of Revenants. Her face was full of courage, even as she stared the Executioner down, shoulders thrown back and screaming some war cry. But the Executioner continued closer, a gleam in those dead eyes, malicious cruelty as it rose bladed arms up. And once it was done with them, it'd come for us, until it had managed to break open the cathedral to get the humans inside. I pulled my arm back, taking aim with my halberd, even though I knew it wouldn't meet any mark. When it inevitably failed, I'd have to shed my human form, to destroy the Executioner and save the mortals. It was a price I had hoped I wouldn't have to pay, but I would do it. Even if I never got to see them again, I'd do it._ _

__But, as I prepared to throw, something caught my attention. I heard the twang of a bowstring, the faintest knocking of an arrow, before it was released, cutting through the air. Though with slightly imperfect path, I watched the arrow strike true, lodging deep in the red muscle that connected the Executioner's arm to its shoulder. The Executioner howled, uselessly grasping for the arrow. In the chaos, I turned around, searching for the source of the archer. I almost didn't notice Balathar, as he peered over the barricade, completely obscured by the longbow he wielded. He saw me, and smiled weakly. I found it in myself to smile back, lowering my halberd and finally managing an opening in the crowd. Egwein and Elric caught up with me, but Elric only stayed upright with the aid of Egwein._ _

__"I can still fight," Elric huffed, almost managing to disguise the wince when he put pressure on his leg. Egwein's face moved for a frown._ _

__"Get him to Nadiya, now! I have an idea!"_ _

__I wanted to argue, but the time we bought had quickly been spent, and so I ran with Elric as fast as I could._ _

__"Egwein, what's the plan?" I called. No reply, but the howls of the undead. I couldn't spare a moment to look back, but the sound of her footsteps were still close, so I simply continued to push forward with Elric. Nadiya was in sight, and it was then that I broke away, letting Elric take up the front, so that I could take out the enemies nearby. A few slashes later, with the clattering of bones and armor, and I looked up to Nadiya. She nodded. Balathar awkwardly nocked another arrow._ _

__"Egwein," I turned, glancing behind me. My meandering search of the demonic mob produced nothing, neither hide nor hair of her, and so my eyes snapped around, more frantic, "Egwein?"_ _

__The Executioner drew my gaze with a roar, and it caught my attention when I picked out the sight of Egwein in the crowd. With the grim finality of a man at the gallows, Egwein stood, staring the beast down. She was on the edge of the bridge, with the ocean behind her, her cropped hair tangled with the brine. The Executioner laughed, snorted in the air, and began to back up in preparation._ _

__"It's going to charge her, what's she–" I stopped, a burst of insight making itself known, and the world seemed to slow, "That was her plan."_ _

__"What?" Elric twisted out of my arms, saw what I had seen, "No! Egwein, don't you dare!"_ _

__I turned to Mikhail, not a moment to lose, "Mikhail, I need you to make space around the Egwein!"_ _

__"I'll do my best," Mikhail nodded. I moved to Balathar, the bow held steadily in his hands._ _

__"Balathar, can you land another shot on the Executioner?" I asked. He seemed to pale._ _

__"I, I don't know, with the way the storm is picking up..." He trailed off, the words choked away as he inhaled an anxious breath. Then, he breathed out, and clenched his fists tight, "I can do it."_ _

__I smiled a little, "Good man," before backing away._ _

__"What about me?" Elric demanded, trying to stand tall and strong, his knuckles white, "I can fight, and I'm going with you."_ _

__"Elric, I need you to stay here and defend," I commanded, eyes softening at the end of the sentence, "Please."_ _

__"I...fine!" Elric growled, whipping out his shield and barring his teeth, "You're wasting time. Go!"_ _

__I planted my feet, a strong exhale, before dashing back onto the bridge. Mikhail did as promised, and a small opening had been created, allowing me to sprint through the clear space as I rushed towards Egwein and the Executioner. I slammed into the cobblestones, the wind picking up, the rain flying around me. The Executioner bellowed, charging forward, twin blades out with intent to kill. Egwein didn't move._ _

__"Balathar!" I shouted, "Now!"_ _

__The faintest of sounds, barely audible through the storm, was made. The woosh of an arrow, fired with a prayer. I heard it fly past my head, and watched it strike the Executioner, lodging deep in the folded muscle of the knee. The Executioner stumbled with a cry of anguish, losing speed and balance, and thus altering course. It crashed into the bridge, burying its blades into the stone with disturbing crunches. Over the din of the wind, I could hear the crumbling sounds, the breaking of cobble, tossed into the ocean. With the collapsing of the bridge, the Executioner made for one last move, raising an arm up and crashing it back down. It tore through the stone near Egwein, before the Executioner roared again, and disappeared._ _

__"Egwein!" I warned, feeling the cobblestones beneath us beginning to fall. Egwein shook herself out of her daze, gritting her teeth and running towards me. But, it seemed that the Executioner had done its last deed with a terrible accuracy, as the ground underneath Egwein buckled. She looked up, and through the storm, she looked a martyr. In my mind's eye, I could see it clearly; failure, death, a mourning in black. Justice, my soul cried, and for the first time in ages, I listened._ _

__"No!" I dove forward, slamming into the rock just as Egwein fell. With a decisive grab, I caught Egwein's arm. I swore I could hear the pounding of my heart, past the howling wind and roaring of the waves, with the frigid rain pelting down on us._ _

__"Were you trying to get yourself killed?" I yelled._ _

__"If it kept everyone safe, that was the plan!" Egwein snapped, swinging in the storm. The growls behind me began to draw closer, but I only narrowed my eyes even more, and strengthened my grip._ _

__"Just let me go!" Egwein demanded, "Let me go!"_ _

__Maybe it was the rain in my eyes, or the crashing of the ocean that seemed so close, but in that moment, Egwein seemed to blur, armor turning gold and voice deepening. I blinked, and the vision of Imperius disappeared into the air, but I still felt my face twist into a bitter expression, sorrow dancing across my features. I inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the air rattle around my lungs, Egwein slipping inch by inch. I squeezed my eyes shut. The memory came unbidden._ _

_"Aerael, let me go!"_

_"You know I can't do that!" I roared, wings flared wide. I was barely a commander, the shadow of apprenticeship still fresh in my mind, and here I was, disobeying my superior officer._

_"That's an order!" Imperius barked, thrashing his immobilized wings. I held tightly onto his shielded arm, stance dug into the tainted soil, even as I slowly slid forwards to the steep drop beneath us, straight into the heart of the Burning Fortress. The screams round us, drowning out any attempts at communication. All, save for one._

_"Let me go!" Imperius began to slip_

_"No!" I cried, "No!" But Imperius was so close to the fall now. I closed my eyes, trying to stop the inevitable. I felt my arm begin to falter. The end was upon us, and I..._

__"Just let me go!"_ _

__I opened my eyes. I took in the sight of Egwein, almost gone, into the thrashing waves below, and remembered. My eyes flared, golden arcs of light flying off._ _

__"No!" I spat, "Not again!" My arm, the left one, so carefully wrapped in cloth, burst into a radiance of sunlight. I roared with effort, pulling Egwein up inch by grueling inch, my angelic strength and stubborn determination fueling me. Egwein stared at me in astonishment, but I paid her attention little mind. The only thing that mattered was getting her to safety, and the moment she was back onto the bridge, no longer dangling over the echoing void, I collapsed. The traces of my holy essence slowly receded, the brilliance of my eyes fading and my arm dimming away. There was a brief silence, filled with not even the groaning of the undead. Not a single Revenant to be heard. I looked up, but each enemy I spotted lay defeated, with arrow or spear or even shield._ _

__"Egwein!" A call. Elric hobbled over as fast as he could manage, shield slung across his back, and his face captivated by some unknown emotion. Egwein, having found her footing, stood up._ _

__"Well?" Egwein shouted, a satisfied and cheeky smile on her face, "I said I had a plan, didn't I?"_ _

__Elric stopped to catch his breath, only a hand or so between them. Then, he stood to his full height, and punched Egwein. I was on my feet like a bolt, but found myself frozen in place, mostly by confusion._ _

__"You're a goddamn idiot!" Elric shouted. Then, he took a deep breath, while Egwein cradled her wounded nose and whined. As I watched their interactions, my soul stirred. It spoke of home. It spoke of Urzael, Tyrael._ _

__I realized, once again, how much I missed them both._ _

__"Aerael," Mikhail was beside me. I blinked, looking over. But, his eyes were not on mine. Instead, he seemed to study my left arm with a curious gaze. There was nothing to see, wrapped up in cloth, save for the faintest of golden glimmer, residual light from a greater piece. And still, he stared._ _

__"Yes?" I tucked my arm to my back. He seemed to catch himself, shook his head._ _

__"You should let one of the doctors bandage that up when we get inside," Mikhail offered. He locked eyes with me, as if trying to find more words to say. Nothing came._ _

__"We're going inside," Elric announced, leaning against Egwein. They seemed to have reconciled their differences, only slightly worse for wear over it, but happier, more relieved. He turned to me, "Are you coming?"_ _

__I nodded._ _

__Elric, Egwein, Mikhail, and I made our way to the cathedral doors. Nadiya and Balathar stood waiting, visibly brightening up at our reappearances. Nadiya squeezed Balathar's hand._ _

__"Best shot in Caldeum," Nadiya sang, lifting Balathar's arm up like he had won some prize. Balathar sheepishly lowered it, trying to shush her. The effect was lost when he still held the bow in his other hand._ _

__"I'm not an archer, honey," Balathar pleaded. Nadiya smiled again, smaller, but no less special._ _

__"Yes, I know. Not an archer, just a scholar," She relented, gently clicking her tongue, "Well, I still think you did well," then, a mischievous smile, "for a scholar, of course."_ _

__"Archer or not," Egwein grinned, "Your shots were solid, and your timing was impeccable. Come see me after this is done, and I could get you a job."_ _

__"I-it's not like that," Balathar attempted. Egwein laughed, punched his shoulder. The large, oaken doors of the cathedral stood before us then. Elric stepped forward, giving a few, solid slams on the wood. There was a lapse of silence, long enough for me to worry that something might have happened. Then, the doors gradually pushed open, forcing us back a few feet. I inhaled the scent of the inner cathedral, and was relieved to find it lacking the ashen smell of death, or the tinge of the undead. An armored guard walked forward, greeting us._ _

__"Hail to you. You have our thanks for defending the cathedral," The guard nodded, "In return, we offer whatever shelter we can give."_ _

__"Of course. We're glad to have helped," Elric gave a tiny smile. We all entered at that, into the holy church, while the other guards forced the doors closed behind us. I could hear the shoving of barricades back into place, as we walked forward, torchlight illuminating our way. Like with many things, smell came to me before sight. It was less muddled than I expected, aged wood mixed with sea salt, and the overture of hope, like a fresh breeze. I smiled despite myself, blinking to let my eyes adjust, torches and the rising moon in the back windows our own sources of illumination. Slowly, it all became clear._ _

__The church was large and ornately wrought, as per custom, with large, arched ceilings, and smooth floors. Stone pillars held up the walls, and towards the back of the room, I could make out three stained glass windows, bathed in a purple twilight, with clear view of the sprawling sea. Most of the wooden seats in the church had been pushed to the front door, stacked up as barricades, while others had been flipped to make tables for supplies. The few that remained as pews held resting mortals, the ones that were either too injured or too tired to do anything._ _

__It seemed that everywhere I looked, I could see survivors, the humans that had been tenacious enough (or lucky enough) to get to safety. Some standing, some sitting, most engaged in some activity or another. There were doctors and guards, merchants and priests, the elderly and the young. Children scurried about, joyous laugher echoing with their games. Two ran past my legs, and I watched them squeal with joy, not terror. A woman with braided hair seemed to chase after them, worry on her face._ _

__"Don't run, you could hurt someone!" She shouted, before dropping hear head, catching her breath. She looked back up after a moment, locking eyes with Egwein. An interesting silence captured them both._ _

__"Egwein?" The woman whispered. Egwein took a moment to be equally speechless, before her usual assured grin returned. This time, though, it was etched with relief._ _

__"Kalila!" Egwein rushed forward, and the woman, Kalila, ran up, throwing herself into Egwein's arms. They spun around, and Nadiya cooed beside me at the display._ _

__"Egwein, you're bleeding!" Kalila gasped. Her eyes darted over our group, "You're _all_ bleeding!"_ _

__"Kalila, I'm fine," Egwein attempted, but Kalila shook her head._ _

__"The doctor is just over here. Come on, I'm sure he won't mind," Kalila tugged on Egwein's arm. When Egwein refused to budge, she tried again, "Please? For me?"_ _

__"Don't you have to watch those kids from earlier?" Egwein whined. Kalila shook her head._ _

__"I was only helping out Fetya, I'm sure she won't mind me taking you all to the doctor. Please?"_ _

__"You should listen to your wife," Nadiya tittered, already nudging the rest of our group forward, "Or should I tell her about your plan on the bridge."_ _

__"No! I'm going, I'm going," Egwein coughed, shifty eyed. Kalila frowned in suspicion, but shook her head, smile returning. The rest of us followed to the doctor, with Elric grumbling the entire way, and Mikhail oddly quiet. By the time we had reached the doctor, I was starting to grow worried._ _

__"Mikhail, what's wrong?" I glanced over._ _

__"Your arm," He muttered, staring at the wrapped cloth of my left, "It's fine."_ _

__I brought the arm closer to my chest, "What do you mean?"_ _

__"I could've sworn it was bleeding earlier," He frowned, looking up to me. I opened my mouth to reply, then shut it, words failing me. I would've stayed like that too, had Balathar not bumped into us._ _

__"Mikhail, you should go to the doctor first," Balathar prodded, oblivious to the tension he had just dissolved, "Your wounds are still healing, but I'd feel better if a professional looked at them."_ _

__"I...you're right, of course," Mikhail decided, stepping forward with Balathar and leaving me to the back. By then, the doctor had put down his work, and had begun greeting us._ _

__"You must be the group that fought off those beasts in front of the cathedral," The doctor smiled, "Thank you. Saves me the job of patching up the guards," then, the doctor shook his head warily, "But it looks like you did a number on yourselves, too."_ _

__"Can you help them?" Kalila asked, fiddling with the braid in her hair. The doctor rose an eyebrow._ _

__"Well, yes. It's my job. Shouldn't be too hard," He decided. He peered over the group, before clearing his throat, "I'm Dr. Wilhelm. Anyone severely injured, come forward. I'll have to prioritize them first."_ _

__Balathar and Nadiya helped Mikhail and Elric forward. Egwein shuffled awkwardly, pointedly hiding her cuts and scrapes. Kalila gently elbowed her in the ribs, at which Egwein doubled over. Dr. Wilhelm's eyebrows rose so high, I worried they might recede entirely into his hairline._ _

__"Right. Okay," Dr. Wilhelm inhaled, looking over the injuries, "I'll have to start with the most serious first, but..." As he trailed off, he glanced over to me, "And what about you? Your arm and chest seem to have been wounded. Do you need treatment?"_ _

__I touched the cloth wrapped around my arm, my fingers reaching up to feel the jagged spots of my armored chest– where my hands had dug in earlier, searching for the phantom blade. My soul throbbed, out of the blue, and I blinked._ _

__"I think...I need a moment," I whispered, a gravelly confession. I felt the weight of several sets of eyes, worried and concerned._ _

__"Aerael, are you–" Nadiya, most of all, bore the most worry. I could see it in her stare, in her movement. I shook my head, stepped back._ _

__"I'm fine!" I stated, then quietly once more, "I'm fine."_ _

__The tense silence was rich with things unsaid, and it was easy to hear the uncertainty, the disbelief._ _

__"Here," Dr. Wilhelm pulled out some amber colored bottle and holding it out to me, after a fashion, "Drink this, and find somewhere quiet to rest for a while. It won't cure you, but it will help."_ _

__"I just said that I was fine," I crossed my arms, eyeing the potion with disregard. The doctor gave a small, slightly pitying smile._ _

__"Not all wounds are physical," He explained._ _

__I didn't know what he meant, but the tone of his words made me bite down on some acidic retort. I accepted the bottle, "What do you mean?"_ _

__"Sometimes it's a look in someone's eyes, or flinching at shadows, but just because you can't see blood, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," Dr. Wilhelm assured._ _

_...Urzael stumbled, eyes wild with fear, staring at the shadows as if they poised a knife at his throat..._

_...Malthael seemed so strange, so lost now, flinching at the lights, actions fueled by fear. What had happened, I wondered– but, I never asked, too foolish, too cowardly..._

_...I tried to breathe in, found it undoable, like something had gripped me, left me paralyzed..._

__My grip on the bottle tightened, and I stared._ _

__"And, it can't be cured?" I asked. Dr. Wilhelm considered his words._ _

__"There are some treatments, but never anything concrete. I'm sorry. It's a weight you may have to carry for the rest of your life."_ _

__"Ah..." I whispered, the last of my resistance blowing away with the force of the breath past my lips. Dr. Wilhelm looked as though he had more to say, but our time was up, and his other patients required his attention. Elric and Mikhail walked with the doctor, into some back area for sutures and bandages, with Egwein following, Kalila beside her. Nadiya cast one last look back to me, full of hesitation._ _

__"Aerael..." She rose a hand. I waved her off, in a daze. With regret, she lowered her hand and left, following Dr. Wilhelm to provide any aid she could offer. Balathar trailed behind her, and I was left alone. I looked down at the bottle, and wandered away, making my way to the back of the cathedral. The moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows, with the blue haze of magic lingering in the air above the water. The bottle in my hands was still the same as before, still amber-colored, swirling golden liquid inside. The memories bore heavy down upon me, and I popped the cork with finality, and took a deep drink._ _

__It was...a strong honey liquid, reminiscent of warm summer day, apple blossoms on the wind, with the unexpected aftertaste of a brother going off to war, never to return. Bitter, to say the least. My throat felt tighter than before, and I set the bottle down, leaning up against the wall with my head in my hands. I inhaled, trying to regain composure, but the cracks I had been holding together for so long finally gave way, and the wards shattered. The words spilled forth with little resistance._ _

__"Urzael," I choked out, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
Some stinging pricked the corners of my eyes, lukewarm liquid seeping into my palms, and my body convulsed pathetically. _ _

__"Should have been stronger, I should have seen the signs...shouldn't have let this happen to you, to us," I uttered. It was growing harder and harder to reconcile the Urzael I had once known with the monster he had become. The monsters that Malthael had made us._ _

__And in that kernel of realization, the tiniest inklings of wrath began to brew. I blinked, pulling my hands back from my face._ _

__"Malthael did this," I began, careful and slow. My eyes narrowed, "But...Malthael is sick as well. Sick, like Urzael."_ _

__I ran the information through my mind, replaying the doctor's words, remembering the memories of ten years. If Urzael was unwell, then so was Malthael. And it wasn't too much of a stretch to realize that so was I. An ailment that could not be cured, a corruption that would only spread, with brief flashes of clarity that'd grow farther and father in between. Malthael and Urzael were already too far gone, and I knew what I had to do. Imperius had taught me much, after all. And a mercy killing, he assured, would work for things that healing could not. To be reborn in the Crystal Arch, free of taint. Not only was an act of kindness, but it was an act of duty. It was up to me, as the only unaffected soldier in the expedition, to save my comrades from a fate worse than death. A mercy killing._ _

__I exhaled, pulling myself up from the wall, and turning around. The specifics of my plan could wait. For now, I indulged in a brief rest. The moonlight was stronger now, and it illuminated the stained glass in a beautiful way, the colors tinting the wooden floors of the room, and myself. The window design, too, was enchanting. It was easy to get lost in the rendering; the arch of the wings, the gold of the armor, the impeccable stance._ _

__I squinted._ _

__"Is that–"_ _

__"Aerael!" A voice called. I spun around in a bout of adrenaline and alertness, but relaxed when I saw that it was only Mikhail. He was bandaged up properly now, and seemed better for it, more loose and relaxed. I waved, and he came over, until we stood shoulder to shoulder, both looking up at the stained glass window._ _

__"The others have been looking for you," Mikhail finally said, breaking the silence, "We found a corner, and are ready to get some sleep for the night. But, not without getting you, of course."_ _

__I smiled at the thought of their concern, "Thank you, Mikhail. I'll go back with you, I just... was thinking."_ _

__"It's been a rough day," Mikhail sighed, "I don't blame you."_ _

__"You know, I followed you all expecting to find answers to my questions," I confessed, and gently inclined my head, "But I think I've found something better."_ _

__The comfortable quiet returned, and so did Mikhail's smile. Slowly, however, it grew cheeky, until he made a gesture to the window, "Do you know the story behind this?"_ _

__I shook my head. Mikhail smiled a bit more genuinely._ _

__"This is a scene of the Dark Taige," Mikhail stepped forward, pressed his hand against the glass, "The time in history when all the stars in the Heavens went out. Only the actions of one angel saved them."_ _

__"One angel?" I muttered, studying the lines of the figure, the familiar white banding, golden laurel wreath, Lieutenant of Wisdom, "How do you know?"_ _

__"Right before the stars came back, the night lit up with an explosion of colors. The result could be seen in the sky for years to come, almost as bright as the moon," Mikhail moved his arms up, pointing to the tip of the halberd in the picture, where a brilliant nebula rested, "Most priests say it's a sign that the angel won. Some say they saw the angel in visions, and watched the glorious battle."_ _

__"That sounds ridiculous," I crossed my arms, and tried not to let my worry show, "That's not even how the story went," I tacked on as a quiet afterthought, only to myself, but Mikhail turned his head back to me, and his eyes were piercing. The cold, creeping sensation of frost gripped my neck._ _

__"How's your arm doing, by the way?" Mikhail asked, never once breaking eye contact. I blanched._ _

__"I..."_ _

__"What's that going on by the East Gate?" Someone shouted. They were followed by the sound of footsteps, armored boots of soldiers rushing to the eastern wall of the church to look. I breathed out in relief, and glanced to Mikhail._ _

__"Let's go check that out," I decided. He nodded, and our conversation was suspended, as we hurried over to see what had happened. We pushed our way to the front of the small crowd, climbing to get a better view._ _

__"I can't see anything," Mikhail frowned. I narrowed my eyes._ _

__"I'm going up for a closer look," I stated, before hopping down and running for the bell tower. A quick clamber up the stairs later, and I was at the top, pushing open the door to the balcony. The sprawling city, beset by fires and the screams of man and monster alike, greeted me. But I ignored all that, drowning out the sounds and the feeling of my hands on the oak, taste of blood in my mouth. Instead, I funneled all of my focus into my eyes, into my nose, drawing the scent in deep, and staring hard. There was rotted wood, and burnt ash, and fear. Underneath that, I could barely smell leather, and a winter's wind. And even fainter, carried by the eastern wind, I could smell lemon. With my eyes, I could barely make out the East Gate, surrounded by notes of darkness. Perhaps, faintest of all, I could see two people. Strange armors, weapons strong. My nose twitched again with the damning twist of lemon, and I pushed back._ _

__"Lorath and his commander."_ _

__I flew down the stairs, until I was back wit the rest of the survivors, and the words seemed to fall from my mouth._ _

__"It's Lorath!" I shouted. Elric, with the others beside him, rose a hand to calm me._ _

__"Who's Lorath?" He asked._ _

__"He's... he's a part of the Horadrim," I informed. At the name of the group, Balathar and Kalila shot up._ _

__"The Horadrim?" They both spoke at the same time._ _

__"I've been studying them," Balathar explained._ _

__"And, my brother Denris is a soldier in the Horadrim," Kalila added._ _

__"I have to go and get Lorath," I stated, "and his commander. I won't leave them to die, not when we can help."_ _

__"You want to go back out there, alone?" Egwein demanded, incredulous._ _

__"Why were they alone? Where were the others of these Horadrim, then?" I retorted. Egwein closed her mouth, but I continued, "That means they're hurt, or worse. Something went wrong wrong with their mission," I elected not to say what, though I knew._ _

__"What mission?" Elric asked, rubbing his forehead._ _

__"Their commander was moving the Black Soulstone to the The Tomb of Rakkis. Malthael wanted it," I shrugged._ _

__"A mission to transport the Black Soulstone," Mikhail whistled, "That would explain why this is all happening, then."_ _

__"You know of the Black Soulstone?" I rose an eyebrow. Mikhail shrugged sheepishly._ _

__"You didn't think to tell us this earlier?" Elric cut in, eyeing me wearily. I resisted the urge to wilt under his disappointment, reminding myself that I was aeons his elder. I did fold, though, just a little._ _

__"Now's not the time!" Nadiya exclaimed, voice rife with determination, "If Aerael wants to go save them, then we should let her. Then, maybe the Horadrim can figure out how to stop this!"_ _

__She raised a good point. One by one, everyone relented to her words. I smiled gratefully._ _

__"I'll be back within the hour," I promised._ _

__"I'd say that I'd hold you to that, but you can't really hold a corpse to anything," Elric groused. He sighed after a moment, and pulled me in for a hug, "Stay safe. I mean it."_ _

__I hugged back, and smiled. Then, without a word, I went to the door. A solemn silence filled the room, every set of eyes on me, watching me walk back into battle just to save two. A few children pointed and began talking, only to be shushed by their parents._ _

__"Wait!" Kalila called. She rushed over to me, then put on a pleading expression, "My brother, Denris...if you find him, bring him back safe."_ _

__I nodded, "You have my word."_ _

__Kalila walked back, leaving me to the rest of my march, until I reached the door. The guards stationed there exchanged positives, and opened the door, after a few moments. Then, I stepped out, back onto the bridge that had claimed so many, and into the air that smelt of death. The doors closed behind me, and I began my journey._ _


	15. Feroce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...Ideas drifted through my head. A mercy killing. The concept of penance. My expression hardened, as the plans solidified, "I suppose, what I'm saying, is that I think I know how to help them," I closed my hand, the fog flying from my fist in tuffs of dark air. A smile settled back onto my face as if it had never left, "Well. Let's get back to it. We're almost to the town center, after all...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feroce: _To play in a fierce, fiery manner._

The journey back through Westmarch was not half so difficult nor long as before, and I found myself breezing through the streets, striking down enemies if needed, sprinting in my rush to reach Lorath and the commander in time. I could have flown, shed my mortal cloak and been there in an instant, but doing so would have undoubtedly drawn the attention of Urzael. I didn't want that– at least, not yet. The closer I got to the East Gate, however, the more rampant the destruction. The smell of rotting corpses, the way the air seemed to drip with despair. The monsters, maybe drawn to the calamities, or perhaps the reason behind them, began to grow denser in numbers. 

I took the corner in a sharp turn, almost running face to face with a Revenant, standing sentinel in the street. Alone, however, it posed little threat. Without missing a beat, I brought my halberd forward, spearing it in the core. The Revenant wailed for a moment, out of shock rather than pain, before the pale spirit was torn out, and dissolved into the air. The bones dropped to the ground with clatters, along with the brief thunk of armor on cobble. I jumped over the remains, and kept running. I almost missed the Exorcist down the side street, as it hunched over something and wailed. The sharp sword wounds it bore, however, were harder to miss. My feet dug into the ground, forcing me to a stop, and I stared at the monster. There was the sound of a clash, of a man striking the beast. The Exorcist, however, was not phased.

"Corrupt," It hissed, raising up disproportionately long arms, hands sharp claws, "Coward."

Whatever other scathing insult it was about to say, it didn't have the chance. I rushed forward, bringing my halberd down with a slam and finishing the job. The Exorcist gurgled, then quietly slumped to the ground, an empty sack of flesh, emaciated ribs and blind eyes. I took a deep breath, regaining my composure, and looked up. Two men stood behind the corpse, though the man in the heavy armor had the faintest wisps of lemon scent attached to him. A blink brought them into focus, and my relief was palpable.

Lorath, and his commander. Both seemed to be in moderate health, though Lorath seemed remarkably tired, and the commander was clutching painfully at his chest. No major bleeding wounds, though, or obvious broken bones. Curiously, the persistent soul tugging from earlier decided to stop. I ran a hand over my cuirass, as an afterthought, and cleared my throat.

"Lorath? Commander?" I called. Both turned their heads to me, and both went through different degrees of emotions. Lorath was in the pleasantly surprised spectrum, while the commander looked like he had just swallowed a lime.

"It's you!" Lorath rushed over, rough cloak blown behind him, until he was in front of me. Judging by the sword on his back, and the armor he wore, I assumed he had been on the mission with the commander. Judging by the fact that he was still alive, I could assume at least one thing had gone according to plan.

"Glad to see you're in one piece," I commented, stowing my halberd and patting Lorath on the shoulder. I turned to the commander, brows furrowed, "But, I can't say the same for you. What happened?"

"Malthael," The commander spat the name, as if it caused him rage and sorrow in equal measure, "He ambushed us. Killed all of the Horadrim, save for Lorath and I. He managed to get away with the Black Soulstone, after wounding me."

"What will you do now?" I asked, taking a place beside them both as we began to walk down the street, back in the direction of the church. The commander heaved a sigh.

"We're waiting for the Nephalem to arrive in the town center. From there, we'll track down Urzael, use him to find the location of Malthael."

"Wait," I rose a hand, "When you say that all the other Horadrim died, even Denris?" I attempted. The commander nodded.

"Malthael stole their souls from their bodies, as if it were nothing," The commander hissed. I lowered my head, already thinking of Kalila, how I would tell her what had happened– it was my fault, surely, that this had happened. Had I not given Malthael the information, perhaps...

"How did you know of Denris?" The commander inquired, breaking me from my thoughts. I blinked away the regret that clung like tar, clearing my mind.

"There are survivors in the city center cathedral. Denris was the brother of one of them," I explained. The commander frowned, more remorse collecting in his eyes.

"I'll extend them my deepest apologies. He was a very brave soldier."

"Of that, I've no doubt," I assured.

"You said there were still people in the center," Lorath jumped in, having grown too curious to keep quiet. I nodded, and he continued, "How many have survived?"

"Two hundred or so, maybe more," I guessed. I didn't anticipate duel expressions of alarm, "Is that bad?"

"It's worse than I thought," The commander admitted, "How many monsters roam that area?"

"Little to none," I stated, my voice leaving little room for doubt. 

"At least there is some good news," The commander sighed. The action, however, caused him to flinch again, groping at his armored chest with a barely concealed hiss.

"Commander!" Lorath hurried to support his friend, while I stood there, feeling useless. 

"What's wrong?" I asked, already scanning the area for threats, "Poison? Were you wounded by the Exorcist? Is there something–"

"Nay, my friend. Nothing so simple," The commander finally managed, cutting my off gently and slowly pulling back up to his full height, "Before he left, Malthael attempted to steal my soul, only barely stopping before the deed was done. But, it seems that the spiritual wound is not so easily healed."

"Is there anything I can do?" I finally settled on. The commander graced me with a humored smile.

"Your concern for my wellbeing is more than enough."

His words sent the light, tingling sense of butterflies up my spine. I examined the new sensation, and frowned. I would deal with that feeling when the time came– which would be never, if I could help it.

We walked more, as I lead the way through the side streets and dusty alleyways. Abandoned buildings surrounded us, the echoing cries of monsters, the occasional scream of a life ended too soon. The mystical glow of magic that hung in the air, illuminated by the moonlight, and the few stars that shone through the clouds. I tried to focus on the task at hand, taking each step carefully and cautiously. Finally, though, the silence became too dense, and I decided to speak up again.

"Earlier, you mentioned the Nephalem," I turned to the commander, "Could you elaborate?"

"Don't you know about them?" Lorath piped in. I felt my hackles rise, embarrassment burning my face.

"Of course! I just, don't know as much as you both, it seems," I defended. The commander gave a baritone laugh, and I felt my face burning for entirely different reasons.

"Lorath, leave the poor woman alone," The commander chided, though the effect was diminished due to the slight smile he now bore, "The Nephalem is one of our greatest allies. They helped defeat Diablo several months ago, along with many other Great Evils in Sanctuary."

"Truly?" I inquired, "A mere mortal, able to do such things? They must possess enormous ability." 

"As one of the direct descendants of Lilith and Inarius, I am assured that their strength has no equal," The commander nodded. I turned the words over in my head.

"Strong enough to defeat Death?" I asked. A peculiar silence washed over us, like the surf of the ocean on the beach. Finally, the commander spoke up again, his face troubled by uncertainty.

"If the Nephalem's plan is correct, they will first defeat Urzael. From there, they hope to gather enough strength to face Malthael in battle."

I supposed that the snort I released could've been considered rude, but that was the last thing on my mind. My gaze narrowed, a wrathful passion fueling my speech, "It's one thing to be able to defeat Urzael. But Malthael, he's the oldest and strongest of the archangels. If the Nephalem wants to face him, they must be ready. Defeating Urzael won't be enough."

The venom in my voice came as a surprise to all, including myself. I tempered it, stowing it away for later like all weapons. The commander and Lorath both stared at me nonetheless.

"Your conviction is intense, but also worrying. Why do you care so much?" The commander frowned.

"The Nephalem is our greatest hope," I stared at my hand, watching the blue flog swirl around my fingertips, "It'd be a tragedy if they lost." 

Ideas drifted through my head. A mercy killing. The concept of penance. My expression hardened, as the plans solidified, "I suppose, what I'm saying, is that I think I know how to help them," I closed my hand, the fog flying from my fist in tuffs of dark air. A smile settled back onto my face as if it had never left, "Well. Let's get back to it. We're almost to the town center, after all."

Our silence was companionable for the rest of the brief journey. But a deep feeling of apprehension began to fester with every step closer to the cathedral. My intuition had yet to lead me wrong, so with the air of someone familiar to the routine, I braced myself. As we set foot in the town center, and the partially-ruined bridge leading up to the church came into view, the tension in the air curdled uncomfortably. 

"What happened here?" The commander peered to the rubble, and the remnants of the Revenants that hadn't been swept out to sea in the battle. 

"There was a Butcher–" I began, cautiously walking around the empty fountain, the market stalls still open, the lights still on. I caught my words a moment too late, shook my head to dislodge the memory, "I mean, an Executioner."

"An Executioner?" Lorath inquired, hoping over a loose cobblestone, "What's that?"

"If they share any similarities with Butchers, I can hazard that they're quite formidable," The commander supplied. I nodded.

"You'd be correct. Tall, demonic. The Executioner managed to take out half the bridge in the battle," I gestured. The bridge, despite being in such bad shape, was still serviceable. Minus the missing parts, of course. In the distance, I could see the cathedral, as warm and welcoming as when I'd first seen it. It was almost enough to banish the anxiety from my mind. But, instead, it only fueled to further put me on guard, watching my back in preparation for some unknown foe. Perhaps I was just being paranoid. I really hoped that was the case. 

"Watch your step, we're almost there," I warned. Lorath and the commander took my words of caution to heart, and so we stepped onto the bridge, mindful of loose stones or gaps. Occasion bits of armor littered the ground, discarded weapons and brittle bones. There was the rare splatter of dried blood, but those were few and far between. The angry sound of ocean waves drew my attention at one point, and I looked over the edge of the bridge, down to the rocks and the blue. I was surprised to see the Executioner corpse still there, half submerged in the water.

"I know you said it was tall, but seeing it in person is a little jarring," Lorath whistled, leaned down to get a better look, "How'd you do it?"

"Liberal applications of luck," I rolled my eyes, "I wouldn't recommend it."

There was the distinct sound of waves slamming into the rocks, and the body of the Executioner shifted, slowly falling completely into the water. I watched the last of it disappear into the deep, with the froth of ocean water spraying outwards. I pulled back from the edge of the bridge, letting the ocean breeze wash over me, sending a few errant strands of hair flying across my vision. I turned, just barely catching the scent of sea salt. My movement stopped when a different smell blew past, like fermented bog. My body snapped taunt, like a bowstring, and I took in another breath, frantic and shallow, just to confirm. 

"No," I denied, but I was right, "They wouldn't," but it seemed that they would.

"What? What is it?" The commander demanded, around ready for action. Lorath was slower, but no less prepared. They both moved to face the town center, where I stared, my face contorted into an expression of rage and horror. 

"It's a Death Maiden," I whispered, backing up. Lorath shuffled gingerly in unspoken confusion, but the commander tensed at the name.

"Get to the cathedral," The commander growled, "The Nephalem is close. We will stay outside to do what we can, and when the Nephalem arrives, they will be able to defeat this monster."

I nodded once, then spun around, sprinting to the cathedral doors with a burst of enhanced speed. The doors were already opened a crack, just enough to allow my entry as I rushed in. I could see that Lorath and the commander had taken up spots on the side of the bridge, weapons drawn and battle faces readied. Down the streets there was an approaching dark mist, the faint glow of a Soul Crucible sat in the center, and the deadly form of a fallen angel at the helm. All the apprehension I had cultivated suddenly felt justified. 

"Close the doors, now!" I commanded. The guards by the entrance nodded, forcing the oaken doors closed, hastily stacking the barricade back up. Meanwhile, I ran to the center of the room, raising my voice, "Everyone, I need you to get to cover, and stay down!" 

The survivors scrambled to follow my order, ducking behind benches, tucking away into corners. Many of the children were ushered to the farthest point in the area, hidden behind several boxes and shrouded in darkness. I turned to my left, catching view of Egwein and Elric as they herded the rest of the group into a safe place. Nadiya peaked her head out.

"Aerael, what about you?" She cried. 

"I'm fine!" I assured, "Get back!"

Nadiya nodded, giving me one last look of encouragement, before ducking her head with the others. The room had gone quiet, as noiseless as a graveyard, no rustling of trees or bird songs to fill the silence. Only the faintest of terrified breathing, the sniffling of children crying in fear of the unknown. If I strained my ears, I could hear the sound of the ocean outside, some gentle reassurance as the tide flowed to and fro. The moonlight spilled into the room from the stained glass window, lighting across me and casting an ominous shadow onto the floor. The smell of terror picked up, but even worse was the scent of bog that tickled my nose. From outside the ancient church doors, a terrible fog began to seep into the room, curling and slithering across the ground. My breath misted in the air in front of me, a cold grasp of winter taking hold. There was one final sound, of deep, echoing laughter– the kind that might have once been beautiful. Then, the doors were thrown aside, broken into a thousand wooden slivers, and I saw Death.

I could remember the first time I met the Death Maidens with distinct clarity, the kind that was brought forth when absolute horror reigned. I remember the way they had moved, the tilt of their heads, the gloom they had exuded. But most of all, I remembered their eyes. A gaze that held no light, a stare that spoke of undying loyalty at terrible price. I would have called their orbs empty, but that wasn't the right word. The fires of belief burned brightly in those eyes, but it was a cold flame, and a terrible fate. The halberd I clutched in my hands felt as thought it wouldn't be enough.

The Death Maiden floated into the cathedral on wings of darkness, clutching the Soul Crucible and approaching the center of the room. The trickling light of the moon barely shone off her ashen armor, throwing shadows across the floor. It seemed that she didn't notice me, or that she didn't care. I glanced behind the Maiden, out the entrance, trying to pick out Lorath or his commander. But, the fog the Death Maiden had left in her wake was impenetrable. I prayed that the Nephalem was close, for all I could do was hope. Well, that, and stall.

"Halt!" I ordered. The Death Maiden stopped and looked down at me, as if having seen me for the first time. 

"Yes, Lieutenant?" The Death Maiden asked. I held my halberd tighter.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. Outside, I looked the part of any commanding officer; strong, stoical, unyielding. Inside, I was screaming. Occasionally, my eyes would dart to the open doorway, searching for any sign of the Nephalem. Nothing.

"Preparing the Soul Crucible," The Maiden replied. She placed a hand on the smooth surface of the device, the blue flames of her armor dancing through the air.

"Who told you to do this?" I asked. The Death Maiden pulled her hand back, flicking her hollow eyes to me. 

"Lord Urzael," She stated, "He detected a large soul population in the town center," and then the Death Maiden turned her gaze to the rest of the room, plucking out the location of each hidden mortal as though it were nothing, "As always, he was right."

The Death Maiden began to set the Crucible down. I placed my left hand on the cold stone, halting it. 

"Lieutenant?" The Maiden tilted her head. I inhaled, nervous tic. 

"I can't let you do this," I rumbled. The Death Maiden paused. 

"But I must," The Maiden pushed the Soul Crucible forward. My brows knitted together, my strength pushing back, and I spared a moment to look around the room. I saw my friends, crouched and hidden, the wispy pieces of Nadiya's hair bobbing with her shivering, her hands tangled with Balathar's. I could see Egwein and Elric, their weapons drawn, shield out and sword ready, with Mikhail's spear clutched low. Kalila and several children were tucked safely away, and she tried to soothe their little hiccups of terror, but such a thing was hard when she too trembled. Even Dr. Wilhelm was still tending to patients, keeping them steady despite the turmoil. The sight of them all, such tenacious souls, the most courageous humans I had ever met– moreso than any angel I had trained, or enemy I had fought against. It was inspiring, in a way that urged me to do better, be better. The gentle strumming of my soul that pleaded incessantly for justice rose an octave, and just this once, I indulged it. 

"You may try," I decided, "But," an exhale, "You will fail"

In a contest of strength, a mere human would never have been able to beat an angel, fallen or otherwise. As I pressed back against the Crucible, I could feel my disguise buckling, the shell fraying at the edges and twisting apart. My left arm, the weakest link, began to glow with golden light. In the darkness of the cathedral, illuminated by the twilight of the moon, it might as well have been a sunrise. A human would have failed, and so my body compensated, destroying my inhibitors.

"Lieutenant, I must ask you to yield!" The Death Maiden shouted the command, shoving more power into her words, into her actions, channeling it into the Soul Crucible. The arcane device had begun to emit a sickly blue color, aura fading into the air and swirling like fireflies. I knew how the Crucibles worked, every inch of their mechanisms. For example, that someone could prevent it from activating by rechanneling in an amount of energy equal to what was being used to power it. As the Death Maiden amped up her output, so did I. It was an escalation, neither side willing to back down. I threw one last glance to the entrance to the cathedral, and was surprised to see the Nephalem charging towards us. 

"Wait!" They might have cried. Or something else, I imagined it might have been heroic. The wailing of the Soul Crucible was filling my ears by then, so the words were unfortunately lost on me. 

A word of caution, regarding Soul Crucibles. While it was true that sufficient energy feedback could stall them, what was even more true was that all that energy had to go somewhere. And since it couldn't be converted to fuel inner functions, it would be expelled. An explosive buildup of power, that would assuredly destroy the Crucible– and, without a conductor, a sizeable area around the device too. So when the Soul Crucible began to shudder and shake, and the Death Maiden began to back away, I pressed forward, both hands planted on the chilled stone surface. A guttural sound rose to my ears, a scream of defiance that rumbled my throat, as the connection was made, and the Crucible's excess began to channel through me. In bursts of gold, my mortal form cracked outwards, starting with my hands. The destruction climbed like ivy over me, sending spiderwebs crawling up my arms. A chunk of my chest shattered, the light flooding out like a beacon. I roared, just in time for my throat to collapse, and the Crucible reaction to be completed. In the sudden silence, it almost felt as though time had stopped. 

The resounding boom a moment later proved that notion wrong. The explosion threw me back like a rag doll, and as I flew, I became acutely aware of my surroundings. The Nephalem was in the cathedral, rearing back to attack the Death Maiden. Behind them, I could see Lorath, and the commander. Still safe, I could see my friends, though a few had stood up to watch me sail through the air. A blink, the sound of glass shattering, and I realized I had just flown through the stained glass window. Shards of gold and white danced around me, the stars reflecting off of them, and the ocean reaching out for me as the last of my disguise dropped away. The tattered wisps of my wings unfurled on instinct, and I banked through the air, taking a sharp turn that sent me flying back towards the church bridge. In an impressive aerial feat, I twisted upwards, arching into the air to avoid the wall of sea rocks that had claimed the Executioner earlier. I was less fortunate a moment later, as my path faltered, and I found myself in a downward shot towards the empty fountain in the town center. I only had time to brace myself, before I slammed into the stone, sending cobble and wood flying. The dust hung heavy in the air, and I lay sprawled out, partially buried in the rubble. In the distance, I could still see the cathedral, and hear the sound of fighting. My mind urged me to get up and continue, but I was just so tired...

And decided that a little rest couldn't hurt


	16. Fortepiano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...The phantom scent of sulfur flooded the square, rotten and horrible, rising and spilling from my throat like a fissure to the Burning Hells. I roughly shoved a hand to cover my mouth, as if I could take back the words..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fortepiano: _Loud then immediately soft._

No human would've survived the fall I took. Any normal person would have tumbled into the ocean, been dashed against the sharp rocks below, their body swept back out to sea. 

Thankfully, I wasn't exactly human.

The sound of stones shifting caught my attention, drawing me out of my inattentive daze. Channeling that much raw energy wasn't exactly a healthy activity, and my wings twitched from where they were dug into the ground. I could hear muffled voices, distant enough to be vague, but the comforting scent of lemons prickled my nose. 

"Aerael!" A woman called. Nadiya. I could hear the worry in her tone, undoubtably wringing her hands with it. There was the clanking of armor, stepping on loose stones.

"Check the rubble!" Another voice shouted. Lorath. Maybe Mikhail? Their voices were similar, similar enough that I struggled to distinguish them from a distance. My sense of smell was of no help to me, not where humans were concerned. Human souls never carried a scent. They may have washed themselves with lavender or pine, but it wasn't the same.

Not with the commander, though. The smell of lemon clung stubbornly to him. Another puzzle for another time. 

As if summoned, the lemon-scented man drew closer to my spot. His steps were solid, but I could tell he was afraid, the slightest hesitation to each footfall. I almost wanted to settle back down, let the comfort of citrus and bergamot send me back to dazed slumber, but I didn't. Instead, I moved an arm. The loosest stones shifted, a few clacking together, a single tumbling to the ground. It rolled until it bumped against the commander's foot. I heard him inhale and stiffen.

"I found something!" He confirmed, before hurrying over and crouching down, digging through the wreckage. Belatedly, I made to summon up another disguise, but the light fizzled out, leaving me with a minor headache and an uncomfortable feeling, like all my body had been dunked in icy water. The sensation prickled the back of my neck, and my chest constricted. No disguise came. My plan was falling apart, like sand sliding through my fingers, washed away by the tide. The more I tried, the more my headache blossomed, the turmoil of growing apprehension that crawled up my spine. It was only fitting that the commander dug out the stone in front of my face, just in time to see me panic, and just in time to jump away in panic himself.

Seeing his frightened expression put a bitter taste in my mouth, and not because of the burst of fear that suddenly scented the air, mingling unpleasantly with the lemon. My strength came back to me, just enough for me to force my way out of the rubble, standing to my full height unconsciously. I realized after a moment that I towered over the commander, like some menacing giant, and did my best to hunch down. All that did, though, was make me loom.

"Commander," I pleaded, "Don't be afraid."

I heard Kalila scream, the first to notice me.

"Monster!" She alerted. There was the thundering of footsteps, as every available guard from the rescue effort rushed forward, pushing the civilians to the back of the crowd. I could make out several of my friends at the front of the group, intermixed with the other guards from the cathedral. I glanced back over to the commander, with Lorath by his side, and reached out.

"Lorath," I attempted. He took a wary step back. I looked around again, spotting Nadiya, partially-hidden behind a wall of soldiers. 

"Nadiya, it's me, Aerael," I whined. Nadiya blinked, as if surprised.

"Aerael?" She inquired. 

Faintly, I heard another voice repeat my name, albeit in a much more terrified and hopeful fashion. The murmurs of the crowd quietly drowned it out. I only continued to stare intently down at Nadiya, trying to keep my face gentle– until, that is, I remembered humans couldn't see under our hoods. My expression collapsed into anguish. 

"We met in the Tower of Korelan," I informed, "You bandaged my wounds."

"Aerael?" Nadiya's voice grew relived, "It's really you?"

"Yes!" I nodded. There was a tension in the air around the large group, but no one seemed ready to refute me. Slowly, most of the guards backed away, but didn't sheath their weapons. I lowered myself down to a crouch, until I was eye level with the humans, my wings drifting behind me. Mikhail, Egwein, and Elric moved to the front of the congregation. 

"Aerael," Elric began, taking in my dented armor, tattered wrappings, the unfamiliar stains on the virgin cloth, "What are you?" Elric's voice was tired and lost, stitched together with uncertainty. I opened my mouth to explain, but Mikhail beat me to it, a sour edge to his face. 

"An angel. Am I right?" Mikhail tilted his head, unusually calm. I nodded, unsure, and he took it as an invitation to continue, "You're the same angel the church mentioned, aren't you? Of the Dark Taige?" 

His expression was steadily growing more and more unreadable, digging deeper with each word. Again, I hesitantly nodded, and ignored the pit in my chest that screamed for me to get out. The crowd erupted in excited murmurs, but the foul scent of fear seemed to grow exponentially. My wings twitched, eager to fly away, but I had to hear him out. I reminded myself that I was among friends, that I was in no danger. 

"But you're different now. Something happened to you," Mikhail trailed off, knowing glint to his eye. I thought back to that mountain, with the snow howling, the blinding sheets of ice, the cold hand on my shoulder, "What happened?"

I inhaled, taking in a shaky breath I didn't need. At the very least, they deserved an explanation. A reason why their home was flooded with the undead. 

"Malthael..." I managed, "He lead us. Urzael and I. Changed us, with his words. He made everything seem so simple, and I couldn't stop myself from listening," I whispered the explanation, but it was more like making excuses, I felt, "It was my job to find out how to kill the most mortals at once, in the most efficient way. I made the Soul Crucibles, and I made monsters."

I could almost hear the other shoe drop, with the grim finality of a judge’s gavel.

"It was you!" Kalila's voice cut through the silence like a knife. It dripped with accusation and betrayal, and it struck me to the core, "You killed him! You killed Denris! You killed my brother!"

"No!" I recoiled at the accusation, "I didn't–"

"Yes you did! Don't lie to me!" Kalila wailed. Egwein bolted out of the fray, wrapping her arms around Kalila, and staring at me with such raw hatred that I felt my own resolve buckle. I hadn't killed Denris. Right?

"You killed my wife, Abigail!" Another voice called from the crowd, "One of those undead beasts grabbed her on the way to the church, an' killed her!"

"Wait–"

"My little boy, Geoffrey! He was only seven years old!"

"I don't–"

"My whole family, dead! I can still hear the screams! Oh god, the screams."

"My husband, he was a soldier, he was only a week from retirement! You turned him into one of those monsters, and he ate my baby! He ate her!"

"Your brother, Urzael? He killed my mother in Westmarch Heights! He killed everyone! He laughed while he did it, too!"

I fell to my side in my haste to back away. But no matter where I looked, I was bombarded by the shouts, the yells and the wails, the sobs and cries for blood. I sat under the words, letting the shame undertake me. So easily, I could have stood, defended myself against even the strongest of warrior they offered. But, I didn't. Instead, I looked up, scanning the crowd. I could see Elric's conflicted expression, his shield raised in front of the crowd– was he defending them from me, or protecting me from them? Egwein and Kalila were twin pillars of grief and wrath, wrapped around one another, Egwein's sword pointed at me. Mikhail's dark expression stared into my soul, but his eyes were full of disbelief. He didn't want this, I could feel, and it was too late for words like regret. But, worst of all was Nadiya. Balathar was beside her, holding her hand with a face full of concern, but Nadiya was... Nadiya was hope. She smiled sadly at me, as if forgiving everything I had done, so much like Auriel that the shame I felt bloomed in my chest again, a burning inferno. 

"The Executioner slaughtered my friends! I've got no one left!"

"You were the one that barred the exits, weren't you? You're the reason why my brother died trying to leave!"

"Nothing left, not after that, nothing left nothing left..."

"Silence!" A voice boomed over the crowd. Instantly, all the shouting and screaming died off, the silence tense and unforgiving. From the crowd, a lone figure emerged, clad in adventuring gear, their face unreadable.

"Nephalem," I greeted. My voice didn't waver, but my breathing hitched with the incoming scent of winter's wind from the sky. 

"Quiet," The Nephalem growled. They stalked towards me, but their attempts at intimidation were useless when we were the same height, "Give me one reason why I shouldn't end you now, monster."

The Nephalem was strong, if the commander was to be believed. It wouldn't be difficult for them to end me right then, either. The thought of it was tempting, to finally rest, to finally sleep. Tempting, but, not enough. My original plan might have been demolished, but a new one was just as easily made. With some improvisation, and luck, the Nephalem could be the hero we so desperately needed. They just needed a helping hand.

"Answer me!" The Nephalem demanded. 

"How far are you willing to go to save them?" I asked, tilting my head so our eyes locked. The Nephalem took a step back unconsciously, and I continued, finding some token wisdom to impart, "Sanctuary needs you. The Heavens need you. But when the time comes to deal the finishing blow, you can't hesitate. It'll be your life, or theirs, and your next foe won't give you a second chance."

A howl filled the air, echoing from a distance, and a winter's wind blew past us. I inhaled, feeling it mix with the lemon and the sea salt. It smelled like the memory of a happier time. The warm sun, a comforting hand, the satisfaction of a spar, and a deep, baritone laugh.

Then Urzael appeared and ruined the whole thing. 

He descended in a writhing cloud of darkness and shadow, bellowing in fury, empty sockets glaring at the humans with pure, undiluted rage. The mortals, for the most part, recognized the danger instantly. The guards began to herd the civilians towards the cathedral, while their most skilled warriors stood their ground, prepared to fight. 

All except the commander. He stood in the same place as before, still shocked, still numb. His eyes bore into mine, as though he knew the set of my face under the hood. Impossible. But I still glanced away, letting the shame guide me. I was among friends. But, not my friends. The humans had each other, and I was not welcome, not anymore. I belonged with the other monsters. 

"Mortals!" Urzael hissed, landing on the ground with a heavy thud and buckling the stones, "What have you done?!"

I pushed myself back up, having gathered the strength to at least fly on my own. As I rose back up to my full height, Urzael's head just barely reaching my shoulders, I heard the humans begin to scream again. The moon, directly overhead, made my features seem sharper, cold and cruel. No one could see that my face was warped with a heartbroken, lonely frown. 

"I'm fine, brother," I stated. My voice was clipped and indifferent. The Nephalem's body was poised for a fight, standing in front of the other guards, ready to defend the other survivors from us. 

"I'll kill them," Urzael growled, "Disgusting insects, no place in this world."

A few of the children that had snuck outside began to cry. Urzael singled them out, rose an arm. I placed my hand on his gauntlet. 

"Urzael," My grip was just tight enough to stop, enough to warn. Urzael made a sound deep in his throat, like a feral dog, but didn't move. I closed my eyes, washed the sorrow from my face, and prepared to do something that made my soul shriek.

"Let's go," I decided. Urzael scowled.

"Why should we not kill them?" He demanded. I inhaled. My skin burned. My hands trembled. There was a crack in my voice.

"They're weak. Flawed, useless creations of Inarius. They're not a threat to us, and never will be," I lied. The phantom scent of sulfur flooded the square, rotten and horrible, rising and spilling from my throat like a fissure to the Burning Hells. I brutishly shoved a hand to cover my mouth, as if I could take back the words. My eyes darted to look down at Urzael, expecting him to have picked up on the lie the moment it left my mouth. But, he didn't even move. He was too far gone to notice, still glaring vehemently at the wailing children, unaware or uncaring.

"You're right," Urzael grunted. He took a step back, crushing the cobblestones, his wings frozen fire that flared bright in the night. He might have smiled, he might have frowned. Hard to tell without a face, "Let's go back to the Tower. Lord Malthael awaits us."

Urzael bent down, crouching in preparation, before flying up into the air like a shot. My own wings blew outwards, and so did I, though with less dramatics. I cast one last glance down at the humans, at my former friends. Fear enveloped them. 

"This isn't over!" The Nephalem spat. I let myself smile, as the new plan fell into place, and I flew away with my brother. 

Unnoticed, the commander turned to Lorath, and frowned.

"Lying. Aerael was lying," The commander whispered, his voice colored with disbelief. Lorath tilted his head.

"How do you know?" He asked. The commander turned the thought over in his head.

"I can taste the blood," He admitted. The acrid taste of copper in his mouth. His powers may have been mostly gone, but enhanced taste still showed itself from time to time. Lies were always the same, but never had one been so strong before. 

 

 

The Tower of Korelan was about the same as I remembered it. Minus the fires, the gaping holes in the walls, and the corpses. Urzael banked left, until we came to the largest opening in the ruined roof, touching down with degrees of carefulness. Urzael splintered the wood he landed on, I barely even moved the ashes around. 

"Aerael, I'm so relieved that I found you in time," Urzael breathed, walking to me and wrapping his arms around me in a hug. His body was freezing, sapping the heat from me, but I hugged back, as if the dying embers of my heart could warm him, banish the frost from his mind and soul and return my dear brother to me. Hugging someone so close never felt so lonely. Eventually, Urzael pulled back, leaving the permeating cold of a corpse through my armor. 

"Those mortals," Urzael sneered, "Disgusting. How dare they think to fell an angel? Demonic creatures, with no light in their souls. It will be a mercy to end them."

I blinked. Mercy killing. I had purposely tried to push that part of my plan from my mind, but it came back to me, the thought as sharp and deadly as when I had first conceived it. 

"When Malthael purges them, we can finally return home," Urzael beamed. He turned his back to me, bumps of his spine exposed where the skin pulled taunt over muscle. I stared, in morbid intrigue. I could see the cracks in his back where frozen flame spilled out, the light barely peaking through. My armored hands moved forward slightly. One good shove, and I could dig my hands in, tearing into his soul and extinguishing the light. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be doable, and the first part of my duty would be done. My legs propelled me towards my brother, and my mind raced. His wings fluttered, almost happily, and if I closed off my senses, I could almost pretend nothing was wrong. 

"What say you, Aerael?" Urzael laughed, scratchy and dry, still busy staring out the improvised window of the Tower, eyeing the carnage he wrought below with glee, "Aren't you excited?"

My armored fingers reached out.

"We're nearly there. After this, we can finally go home," Urzael murmured, "and everything will go back to normal."

_"We're nearly there," I exclaimed, exhausted smile on my face_.

_Urzael wheezed a giddy laugh, eyes lighting up, "I just can't wait to get home. Everything will finally be back to normal when Malthael returns, you know?"_

I pulled my hand back, and sighed. I couldn't do it, no matter how I tried to convince myself. Instead, I moved to stand beside Urzael, turning to look out at the city with him. Blown by the ocean breeze of the cathedral, I could smell the faraway approach of lemon. It would be at least an hour until they got here. 

"Tell me more about what we'll do when we get home, brother," I asked. Urzael's shoulders unhitched, and his eyes glowed with vigor. For the next hour, he spoke of glorious sights, and beautiful things, of golden festivals in the streets of the High Heavens, and the smell of parchment scrolls. His words were entrancing, captivating, and it was enough to revive the young angel inside him, the one that had started this journey with me so long ago, and died in the frost. As I laughed at another boisterous proclamation, I inhaled, and felt the sharp sting of lemon against my nose. Close. A street or more. My joy died away, snuffed out by the sudden weight I felt. I turned to my brother, took in the sight of him, and tried to cement one last moment to memory. 

"Urzael, I..." The words stopped in my throat, choked off by sudden fear, until I simply pushed forward, grabbing him in a rough hug. Urzael, despite his surprise, hugged back. It was always him that had initiated touch, never me, but for one final time, I made an exception. 

"It's time I went back to Pandemonium, to inform Lord Malthael," I stated. Urzael nodded against my chest, until I released him. Had he a face, I felt he would have smiled. 

"Let me finish some things here, then I will join you," Urzael promised, not mentioning the odd display I'd made. In return, I didn't mention the Nephalem gradually getting closer, no doubt trudging up the street below. I didn't mention how sorry I was, that I had failed as a sibling. I didn't mention the regret that ate away inside me. The fabric of my hood flapped in some breeze, pulled up against the sides of my face. It was, I supposed, a striking frame to a rather pathetic portrait.

"Of course. Be safe," I strangled my voice in submission. Urzael nodded again. As I backed away, a portal opened up in the middle of the room, morphing with dark colors, displaying the red-brushed landscape of Pandemonium. I walked towards it with more calm that I felt, and tried to keep up the facade for as long as I could. I was one step from the swirling void when I stopped, and inhaled, risking one last parting exchange.  
"I love you, Urzael."

Then, into the portal I went. The moment I touched down on the dried stone, and the portal closed, all pretense of poise disappeared. My knees shook, my wings trembled, and my face collapsed with anguish. I tried to remind myself that it was necessary, that Urzael's death had purpose. His suffering would be over soon, brought back to Anu's warm embrace, all taint vaporized. But, try as I might, it still hurt to think that I had left my brother there, unaware of his fate, to die alone in a Tower like some miserable demon. 

But, I supposed that was the nature of mercy killing. You do it for them, even when it hurts you. I cast my gaze to the horizon, the sight of the Pandemonium Fortress that crested the rocks. Malthael was there. Waiting for some hero, someone to fail. As I walked for some middle ground, I looked over to the location where the Nephalem would come from. Malthael wanted some weak hero, but I had something better. One way or another, I would lose. Either the death of my family, or the death of a world. But if I played my cards right, Malthael, Urzael, and I– we'd all be together soon. Just as Urzael wanted.


	17. Trionfante Ma Triste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...I laughed, but it was sardonic, "Wisdom will be lost, Death will come. And here I was, bold as brass, thinking we'd managed to outsmart that silly prophecy."...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trionfante Ma Triste: _Triumpant but sad_

The Pandemonium Fortress rested at the horizon, hidden behind a wispy bank of fog that swirled in long stripes of soft blue and grey. The Fortress, noiseless and framed in such vibrant colors, looked deceptively nonthreatening. But, some of the most deadly creatures in the Realms had beautiful colors too, and that did not make them any less lethal. For whatever reason, the dark sky glowing through the clouds of ash brought the ground below to the reddish hue of freshly-spilled blood, backlighting crimson across me as I stood there, as if I had just committed some horrible murder. I felt like I had. 

Standing there, I could remember the first time I had been in Pandemonium. It had been aeons ago, a brutal battle, an army of soldiers against the demons of the Burning Hells. I'd only been a recruit then, barely old enough to grasp my aspect. I crouched down, staring absentmindedly at some armor shards buried in the ground as I lost myself in the memories. The shards looked like bones, bleached white and broken, lonely little memories in an empty realm. I reached a hand out, letting my armored fingers just barely brush the tip of one warped sliver of metal. 

That had been the first time I fought a demon, one on one. My first victory in combat. I'd been so elated, so _triumphant_ , that I'd failed to realize the battle had been lost. Whatever commander at the time must have ordered a tactical retreat, because they were all gone, and I was left alone, lost and forgotten in Pandemonium. Forgotten to all but my brother.

"Urzael," I mumbled as the ruined armor was tugged out of the stone by some magic, followed by another piece, and another, until a marching procession of armory remnants was up in the air by me. My attention was sparse, and so the brittle pieces wobbled slightly in my phantom grasp. Urzael, my silly brother, freshly formed from the Arch. He had been at the age where he fancied himself invulnerable, impulsive and courageous like the idealization of the perfect solider.

"You rushed in to Pandemonium, and _proclaimed_ that you'd find me, no matter what," I chuckled at the memory. With a measure of concentration, I arranged the armor remnants into the vague shape of an angel. There were gaps in the armor, the occasional chunk missing or covering gone, but the outline was there. And so familiar, too. 

"You did do it, after a while..." I trailed off, moving my hand in a brief motion. A pillar of dust and ash rose from the ground, coiling up and around, filling in the cracks and shoring up any holes. I waited until the form was finished, bits of particles suspended as wings in the back, empty space for the eyes. 

Urzael had fought to find me, and I hadn't made it easy for him. I had been in Pandemonium for a while by then, enough that I'd decided that my angelic brethren must have abandoned me, the horrible creatures I believed them to be. The first time I saw Urzael, I'd punched him in the face. 

My lips stretched with a wry smile, unintentional. With more effort than before, I focused on solidifying the body, devoting my full concentration to the task. A ghostly angel, barely there, alive yet dead, built on memories of a life gone and empty promises of some future. 

"You did bring me home, though. Just like you'd promised," I sighed. The eyes of the undead creation began to faintly glow with some blue light, which I swapped to green after a brief consideration, "And Malthael had been the first to welcome us back. Took us in as his lieutenants. You were so proud. We all were."

I carefully brushed a hand over the face of my creation, letting my thumb linger on the cheekbone. 

"But," And then I frowned, pulling my hand back, "I suppose that's a story in the past, now," and paused, a small, indiscernible expression on my face, "Right?"

The facsimile of someone from long ago didn't answer. I didn't expect it to, but it was still a little lonely, standing in a dead realm, waiting by myself. 

"I miss you already, Urzael," I muttered to the breeze, trying to tilt my head to pick up any sounds approaching. There was a brief creak to my left, and I turned, only to find the magical golem staring at me, eyes still empty but burning a vivid green. I knew it was only some residual effect, but I still smiled sadly, "Yeah. I suppose you miss me too, wherever you are."

Vacant wind hit my face, lemon carried with it, along with the sounds of battle, of swords and shouting. I shook my head, cleared my mind of useless thoughts. My eyes refocused, darting past the crumbling tower in the distance, until the image of two figures became clear. Trudging towards me with single-minded intent, both on missions of grave importance, both weary yet exhilarated– mortals words for things I didn't know. I rose myself up to my full height, my armor nudging together, the fabric of my hood pooling with gravity. There was a halberd in my hands that hadn't been there a moment ago, but such was the way of angelic weaponry, and such was my will. The last time I had fought here, I had been aeons younger, fresh and eager for combat. Now, I was considerably older, and so much more tired. A fitting place for a final battle. 

"Aerael!" The Nephalem shouted in leu of greeting. My stance didn't shift.

"Nephalem," I tipped my head their way, before turning to their companion, "Commander," and inclining my head the same. 

"I have slain your brother, monster," The Nephalem announced, striking coldness to their voice, a frosty winter chime," And if you refuse to let us through, you will be next."

"Urzael is dead?" I breathed. I had known it was to happen, but to hear the truth spoken aloud... was jarring. My attention shifted to the barely-alive creation still beside me. Absently, my hand reached out, lightly brushing a bit of dirt from its armored shoulder, "So, Cain was right after all."

The Nephalem made some face, displeased at the distraction, but the commander stopped them, spoke up, "What do you mean?"

I laughed, but it was sardonic, "Wisdom will be lost, Death will come. And here I was, bold as brass, thinking we'd managed to outsmart that silly prophecy."

"Stop," The Nephalem cut in, "No more games. Move aside, or face us."

I pulled my hand back from the golem, contemplating, "Right, let's see what you know."

With a nudge of my hand the undead construct lurched, flying to the Nephalem with duel blades thrust out. The Nephalem jumped back in surprise, narrowly avoiding the attack. They twisted out of the way, while the facsimile of an angel swung back, still searching for its query. With a narrowing of their eyes, the Nephalem rushed forward, and with one swift motion, struck the monster down. The dust and ash that held the armor together disappeared up into the air, while the armor itself fell to the ground, cracking back to pieces. One of my wings twitched.

"Excellent," I praised, though my tone was distant, "Now for something more difficult."

My halberd slammed into the ground, fracturing the rock and sending shockwaves throughout the entire area. The Nephalem and the commander watched in shock as a fissure opened in the stone , but I only stared, detached, as my power whipped around me, swarming into the cracks in bright plums of smoke. Moments passed, before armored hands began to drag their bodies out of the holes, clambering out of the fog on unsteady legs and glaring with empty eyes. They were a mess dark splotches, half-formed monsters, like a jumble of faint memories. Some were larger than others, hulking beasts, while others had gangly limbs paired with sharp claws. Most had two arms, many had more, or rarely less. Two things they all shared: eerie, blue eyes, and dust wings.

"That's...cheating!" The Nephalem could only sputter, words failing them, at the sight of the abominations called forth. 

"Well, this is what monsters do, isn't it?" I blinked, leaning on my halberd, "There are two types of combatants in battle: the kind that uses every advantage they have, and the kind that loses. Which one will you be?" I narrowed my gaze, "Come on. Show me what you've got, _Nephalem_."

As if on my word, the undead I'd summoned snapped around, pawing at the air. The largest of them let out a warped roar, rallying the others to charge, and soon they were rushing across the dirt, trying to reach the Nephalem. Some ran like dogs, while others had to pull themselves across the ground. Wings were useless when they were made of dust and dreams.

"Get my back!" The Nephalem shouted to the commander. The commander nodded, moving to grab something that was obscured from my vision. By the time the horde had reached them, the Nephalem's battle stance was ready, and the commander shouted something courageous. 

The first undead that clambered out was some barely formed mess of shapes, drawing a rusted and ancient sword outwards. The Nephalem dealt with it like it was nothing, an entity worth no effort. Though the second monster was better off, twice the size and with even heavier armor, it received the same fate. It mattered not what type of creature issued challenge, large as a house or limbs as long as tree branches, the Nephalem cut through them all. 

I leaned again on my halberd, observing the battle, feeling a little like I was back training squadrons of recruits. Though the differences became more pronounced the longer I watched, the slashes and screams of the undead more gruesome than endearing. My gaze flicked over to the Nephalem, that vibrant spot of light that tore across the battlefield. The smell of death followed their assault, trailing like a faithful hound after its master. However, I found my attention drifting, picking out the scent of lemon from the crowd and following it back to the commander. Where the Nephalem moved with practicality, the commander _danced_ through the undead fray, slashing and weaving like the battlefield had been made for him. Every motion was polished to perfection, the practice of an action done thousands of times before. I tilted my head, focusing on his blade, listening to the holy chorus that seemed to sing with each swing of his sword. My gaze rapidly became narrowed, and I felt some nonexistent air strangle my throat. 

No normal blade, the commander wielded. Something so powerful and ancient, so familiar to me, could not have been. I wished to deny it, but the more I stared, the more clear it became, that the commander wielded El'Druin, the holy blade of Tyrael. A thief, then. Anger replaced apathy, and I pushed back, flaring my wings outward with rage in my face. With a shove, I leapt forward, rushing and soaring over the crowd of the undead. I landed in front of the commander with a slam that cracked the ground, and rose with a roar.

"Where did you get that sword?" I demanded, my eyes wild with grief, expression stormy with the force of such audacity. 

"It has always been mine," the commander replied, calm. My wings roiled, the smoke and mist thrashing in the air with my rage, as I hunched down and stepped closer.

"Don't think to lie to me, mortal!" I hissed.

And yet, the air did not smell of brimstone, nor sulfur. It was still as crisp and clean as a summer's day. My eyes went wide, and my soul twisted, strangling my throat. I must have been wrong, my senses as corrupted as my mind– there was no way, no–

"Get down!"

A flying strike of power shot out, slamming into my chest, throwing me back. I blinked, trying to regain balance, but then another pain hit me, crawling up my spine and piercing my soul. I tried to retreat, tear it off, but the searing pain only dug deeper. My entire body convulsed, twisting to try and get away, but I couldn't, not with this magic. I had expected a retort, but not like this. 

"Nephalem!" I screamed, my armored fingers clutching my eyes as I doubled over, "Excellent! Good, good, good!" The explosive agony, like thorns in my soul, constricting until my vision was eaten by darkness. I blinked, and thrashed, but my eyes remained useless, and so I stopped, standing there and letting it melt through me. After a moment, I wheezed, "I can smell your fear, Nephalem," and inhaled. To my left, there was a bundle of fear, moving fast in the general direction of 'Away'. The Nephalem. As I rose to follow them, lemon tickled me, and I froze. Tyrael? No, no. Tyrael was dead. It was the commander again, valiant pillar of justice, foolish mortal child. I sifted through the scents of the area, pinpointing the Nephalem, and allowing the pride I felt to settle into a strained smile, the pain buzzing in the background of my mind like a swarm of furious bees. 

"It's time for the final test," I decided, picking up my halberd from the rock where it had fallen. My breath left me in an exhale as I focused in on the undead creations that still roamed around us. With a grunt, I pulled the power from them, returning it to me and letting their empty armors fall back down to the cracked stone. With my arcane energy restored, I shifted my wings, rolling my shoulders. On the corner of my attention, I could feel the commander, waiting to jump into action. My wings flared up, before slicing through an ancient guard post on the nearby rock, letting it fall to the ground and impede the commander. I needed to test the Nephalem, alone. If the Nephalem was phased by this, they didn't show it. I nodded.

"Nephalem."

And with that, the final battle began.  
The Nephalem dashed forward, intent on catching me off guard, or perhaps thinking my blindness made me weaker. I snorted, and not just out of mockery, tracking their approach and dodging out of their path. 

The Nephalem was strong, that much was obvious. After all, they were a protector of the innocent, one who could confront the most powerful champions of the High Heavens and Burning Hells alike. As we fought, the clang of metal and smell of iron reminded me of sparring, of battling against some of the greatest demons the Burning Hells had to offer; none had been able to hold their own against me, but somehow, the Nephalem did. Every move I made, they were there to retaliate. We did not dance, but each blow still seemed choreographed, like the Nephalem had done this countless times before, and would do so for an eternity more. I was impressed, but even the Nephalem had weaknesses. Sooner or later, they would slip up. It was only a matter of when, and where. 

Ironically, that moment came when the commander called into the air, "Nephalem!" 

The Nephalem diverted their attention for the briefest of moments, a quick flicker of the eyes and nothing more, but that was enough for me to pounce. I brought my halberd down, lodging it into their shoulder and swinging them back. The momentum carried, until they were thrown to the ground, blood mixing with the rock as they struggled to get up. My armored boot was on their chest, holding them down, while the tip of the halberd pointed at their face.

"You did well," I praised, before my expression sobered, "but, not well enough. I'm sorry."

My voice was genuinely remorseful, as I brought my halberd back, the metal gleaming. The Nephalem grit their teeth, scrambled for some counterattack, but it was too late. The halberd sailed forward–

_Clang_

Only to be blocked by the commander. The commander was heaving, sweating and scowling hard, El'druin thrust out to stop me. The call of the holy blade still managed to give me pause, the gentle hum that drew me closer, destroyed my guard. Every time. 

"Stay _back_!" The commander roared, shoving forward. The force and surprise of the blow caused me to stumble, falling onto the Pandemonium rock with an expression of befuddlement. I barely had time to collect myself, standing up and fumbling for my halberd, before the commander was upon me, El'druin crackling with holy power. The tables had turned, it seemed. 

"Slay me," I demanded, staring balefully at him, "Is this not justice?"

"Justice is blind, not heartless," The commander retorted. In my surprise, I barked out a laugh.

"Yes, I suppose I am."

There was a moment of pause. The commander, miserable thief and liar, hesitated. I had been the perfect villain, played the role of teacher and motive seamlessly, and he _hesitated_. He didn't want to kill me. Thankfully, then, that it seemed the Nephalem had no such reservations. I felt my lips curl into a bitter smile, just in time for the Nephalem to come rushing at me, the blinding heat of holy power wielded in their hands. The light washed over me, and there was at least the small peace in my mind that the Nephalem had passed my test, and that Malthael would soon face the same fate as I. 

As the first wave of power tore into me, I couldn't stifle the scream that escaped my throat. Pain unlike that which I had ever felt before, the worst pain I would undoubtedly ever feel in my life. It ripped through my left shoulder first, tearing, cleaving the arm off next. My hood was blown back, and I felt part of my chest cave in. A chunk of my lower side disappeared, light explosive, until even part of my wing was dissipated and I was thrown all the way back. The ground was harsh, nothing to stop me from bouncing and sliding until I came to a stop, slamming into a mountain of stone and upheaving clouds of ash. Cold, unyielding, I could feel myself dying with each passing moments. I had died in the snow once before, and it seemed I would die again, in the grasp of a phantom winter.

I tried to say some words, _something_ , but part of my throat had been torn, so all that came out was a gurgled, somewhat pathetic noise. I groped around with the arm I still had, searching for...someone. A small part of me didn't want to die alone, I think. As my mind began to grow murkier and murkier, my previously frantic movements slowing, lemon encircled me. I opened blind eyes to try and see, but there was nothing for it.

"Tyrael," I gurgled out. There was pressure on my side, grasping my hand, so light and insubstantial that it must have been a ghost of some sort, a spirit or a memory, there to comfort me. Tyrael. I wanted to apologize to him, beg for his forgiveness for the things I'd done, but my life was slipping away so fast, and I could already feel my limbs flaking away, going up into the air like drifting little fireflies at night. With that in mind, I chose what were possibly my final words carefully.

"I love you, Tyrael," I managed. I'd told him that ten thousand times, but not enough, and I gathered up the last of my fading strength to try and reach for him. The creeping darkness and frost was starting to pull at me, and I felt myself slipping, as I groped around in vain. No, no, where was he? I needed him with me, needed him to forgive me for things I'd done, to promise me that he always loved me, as he sang to me the story of what we created in the great vastness of time. 

There was the feeling of icicles grazing my soul, and I resigned myself to the lonely death of a monster, giving up hope of ever finding Tyrael again just as I had lost him before. But, as I exhaled for the last time, something unexpected happened; a pair of lips touched down on the side of my cheek. On the final whispers of breath, I heard Tyrael speak to me for the last time, voice so rich and full of _life_ that surprise surged through what little consciousness I had left.

"I love you too."

The gentle shroud of death lowered over me, and the last flicker of light in my soul disappeared into the night, taking the realization of _Tyrael_ with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	18. Niente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...I needed to get back to Tyrael, and I needed to fix all the things I'd done wrong to the mortals. If not fix, then apologize, seek penance. Dying and being reborn was no longer an option..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niente: _Nothing._

_"Tyrael?"_

When angels die, their soul returns to the Crystal Arch. They lose their physical body, and all memories, in order to be reborn anew. It is the way of things, how it has always been and will always be. When I died, and my soul began to pull upwards, entering the void of between spaces towards the Heavens, I made a choice.

I refused.

I thrashed and struggled, tearing myself away, a burning spirit of regret and realization.

"I was wrong!" I shouted, trying to go back, trying to return to Pandemonium, "I'm sorry, I was wrong!"

My wispy, intangible form contorted and twisted, latching onto a point in space and refusing to move past it. I couldn't go to the Arch, not anymore. Before, everything had seemed so simple, the choice obvious and clear. All of my friends had forsaken me and family had been slain, so leaving for the Arch was the only option. But, the longer I drifted there, the more I realized what a fool I had been. I gave up my life out of desperation, not valor, running away from my problems with the finality of death. That I didn't have to face the consequences of my actions, and disguising it as justice. Tyrael would have been ashamed.

At the thought of Tyrael, my ethereal form lit up, and I redoubled my efforts to remain steady. The soul winds pulled at me, tugging insistently, but I refused. I had to get back, to apologize to Tyrael, to see him again. Atonement for my sins weighed heavily on me, but nothing would compare to Tyrael, having him close again. My greatest friend, ally, and eternal companion. In my life, I'd been warned against seeking constants, the danger of such things. But, Tyrael had been the exception to that rule. Mortals came and went, recruits rose and fell, but Tyrael would remain. 

"I need to see him," I decided, cobbling together a plan. I needed to get back to Tyrael, and I needed to fix all the things I'd done wrong to the mortals. If not fix, then apologize, seek penance. Dying and being reborn was no longer an option. With a roiling force, I focused in on myself, the strands of my soul tying back together. A physical form would come first. I pulled in each wisp, convalescing them into a single line. Though each line was nearly invisible, and taxed my waning strength, the process was possible. I could do it. And soon, I would be able to return to Tyrael, and Nadiya, and Bron, and everyone else, and they'd know. It would only take...

Thirty years. 

Had I eyes, I would have blinked at the realization. Thirty years was no time at all for an immortal being, but for mortals, it was measurable. Children came and went in that time, lands changed, armies rose and fell. And I might've had all the time in the world, but a mortal wouldn't. 

I stopped. My previous vigor faded, and I felt myself seem to sag, the winds rocking me back and forth. The implications of the word mortal began to weigh heavy, my thoughts dragging. If my friends were mortal, if _Tyrael_ was mortal, that meant they would inevitably die. Dead, never to return, gone forever. Even if I could make a new angelic form in time, I would still be immortal. I'd have to watch them all grow older, withering under the steady march of time, their lives like mayflies in the eyes of dragons, as I stood helplessly by. And then I'd blink, and they'd be gone, and I'd be alone again.

I couldn't just give up and go back to the High Heavens either. Not anymore, with no one left for me there. Tyrael's loss had torn me, but the wound had been filled with good company and strong purpose. Without Urzael or Malthael, it wouldn't take long for me to crumble again. And this time, there would be no companionship to distract, nor drive or duty. A wound left to fester, one that would consume me entirely, turning me into a creature as unhinged as Malthael in time. 

It seemed that my situation was bleak. I'd lost when I'd won. Malthael would soon be dead, if not already, and my brother was gone. There was no home for me to return to, and I couldn't find solace in Sanctuary. Even though I'd won, I'd lost.

"There has to be a way," I turned, trying to see a way out, an escape from my previously perfect plan. But nothing came, and I was still there, in an empty, starless void, the beckoning winds and the chill in my soul. My grip faltered as I stared up at the light, far above and away, the distant warmth of the Crystal Arch. Pride and honor demanded I stay and find a way, but sorrow's grasp held heavy. 

Time passed. I couldn't tell how long I remained, tenacious and resilient, waiting for a plan that never came. My fading away was a gradual thing, as I slowly let go and drifted back into the void, rocked by the breeze. I wanted to rage, thrash and struggle, but I didn't. Perhaps it'd be for the best that I disappeared entirely. History would forget us, and in time, no one but the most dedicated scribes would remember the angels that'd served death and died miserably. But, no matter how lost I was, I couldn't miss the chill of winter that brushed past me, stoking the fire of my soul, bringing my awareness back to the surface.

"Urzael?" I called. A ball of green-tinted mist convalesced in front of me, a figure barely forming. His soul was as pure as the day he had come into being, forest green without any of the darkness of taint, and all at once, I felt so tired, and horribly guilty. 

"Urzael," I rasped, my voice weakened and pathetically feeble, "I-I'm sorry," as if the words gained meaning in relation to my regret, or my suffering.

Urzael cut off any other thoughts by coming closer, "Hey...It's alright. It worked out, didn't it?"

"What?" I faltered.

Urzael seemed to smile, "Well, we got Malthael back. We'll be able to go home. Even if we don't remember it."

In the face of his nearly suffocating optimism and forgiveness, I felt myself flounder. Urzael's tentative smile flickered, like the light of his soul, as I shied away.

"What's wrong?" He asked. I wanted to brush off the concern, and if the scene was different, perhaps I would've. But I was tired, and the light was rapidly fading, so I figured why not.

"Tyrael is still alive," I let the words fall into the air, "He's mortal. But, he's alive. I have to go back and fix this, Urzael."

Urzael let the words sink in, and stew, releasing a thoughtful little, "Oh," that trailed off into the silence. Another series of weak chills racked us, reminding us that our time grew short. That even if I had the strength to try, it would've been for nothing in the end. Urzael and I huddled closer, like we were young again, three years old with fake swords and scraped knees. In the darkness of the void, I assuaged myself with the knowledge that even though it was the end, at least I had this. 

Time passed. Slowly, the lights went out. A comforting cold rocked us. It was time to let go.

"Do you remember..." Urzael suddenly began. His voice was quiet enough that I almost didn't notice, carefully accented in a way that he never was, "Pandemonium?"

Urzael turned a little, only enough that I felt it, "I was so scared, for you. I took a sword...snuck away when the commander wasn't looking. Like a hero, I guess." 

Strength returned to me briefly enough to let me give a little laugh, a bark that died as suddenly as it had lived, "Yes."

"They'd said you were dead. I didn't even know what that word meant yet," Urzael confessed, "Decided I would take on the entire world, get you back. You were late for Flickball," Urzael's voice was still unusually serious, vacant of all the usual levity, but I could hear a smile at the last statement. The thought gave me the energy to hit lightly against his shoulder.

"You always were a sore loser," I hummed. Warmth suffused me, like a rising breath of air, like the emptiness around us had boiled away in the light. 

"Only because you cheated," Urzael needled. Then, another blanket of solemness, "Actually arriving in Pandemonium, though. I always think about how lucky I was to not die on my way to find you. An annoying little imp of an angel, wielding a sword twice his size, gallivanting off like a knight to save the day."

"And then I punched you," I reminded.

"And then you punched me," Urzael nodded. The words flowed easier from him, and an odd sensation of strength filled me, one that bubbled with energy, an unusual sort of power. I didn't notice, just as I didn't notice the way Urzael had steadily been growing quieter and colder in turn.

"And then we got home, and Malthael was so relieved..." Urzael gently trailed off, the words hanging like curdled milk in the air, heavy and sour, but he still smiled, "But, I was just...happy to have found you again. Together."

The end of our story. I moved to draw closer again, as the void took us, but something was wrong. My entire body crackled, flaring with life, as limbs stitched together without my consent, lungs weaving from air. I rushed closer, forward, taking Urzael in my arms, "Urzael, what did you do?" I demanded, but held him near, trying to burn away the impossible cold from his soul, return to him his last gift to me, given so selfishly. He was fading fast, just as I, but our paths would lead to different destinations. 

"Tyrael and the humans. You've got to make it right," Urzael whispered, "Aerael. I've done nothing with my life but hurt others. If I can do anything, let me give you what I have left..."

"No!" I nearly shouted, "Urzael, you've always been the kind one, not me. You can't die!" I did shout the last statement, grasping uselessly at his ethereal form. 

"You're the only one who can fix it now. You have to," Urzael pleaded, voice as weak as his wispy soul. 

"Don't do this to me, Urzael! Urzael!"

"I'll see you around, Aerael...Don't forget about me," One last smile, one last time. I could feel it, the tearing of barriers, the separation of spaces. And yet, I still tried to cling to my brother, like smoke through my fingers. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I opened my mouth to try and get out some last word, but with no air in my lungs, all that came out was a desperate sound. One last false breath, the encompassing bitterness of loss sunk its teeth into me–

and I was gone.

 

 

My first thoughts.

_URZAEL where am I cold cold so cold can't breath water? Water URZAEL water so cold air need air breath can't air where is Urzael cold AIR light too bright so cold so tired Urzael Tyrael Tyrael where am I what–_

Everything was muddled. It was like my head had been filled with cotton, my eyes swapped out for marbles, my lungs replaced by sandpaper. The air was sharp and salty, and I found myself gasping, taking it in feverishly. Everything hurt, stinging my face and my chest. I couldn't figure out where I was, aside from water, and even then, that didn't reveal much. Nothing made any sense. The once was and never will be. 

"Urzael!" I called out, devolving into a hacking cough that burned my throat. I struggled to keep my head above water, because I'd never learned to swim. It didn't seem relevant, to an angelic lieutenant.

But I wasn't an angel anymore, was I?

"Urzael!" I shouted to the sky, the grey clouds frowning down at me. He was gone, dead, to save me and make me mortal. Gone. I felt something prick my eyes, warm, and I squeezed them shut, but it was too late. The sudden overwhelming complexity of mortal emotions slammed into me, like a brick wall, like the crashing waves around me. I choked, doubling over into the surf, letting the water pull me under and smother the pieces of my heart, torn asunder. And as I was dragged down to a burial at sea, I still found myself thrashing upwards, as if my strength alone could make things right. Please.


	19. Act Three: Vivo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...My lungs burned, demanding I breath, flawed survival instinct betraying me. I held out for as long as I could, before a moment of weakness doomed me, and I inhaled..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vivo: _To play like a rising breath of air, with life._

Elijah Gallagher was a simple man. He took care of his son Liam, he knew how to handle a boat and thread a line for good fishing. He'd lived in the coastal town of Brighton for all his life, knew the Westmarch Gulf like the back of his hand, the brine on the wind and the wild waters. 

Elijah Gallagher was a simple man, but, he was not a stupid man. Oftentimes, people might confuse the two. They would be wrong. 

Take the dark clouds on the horizon, for example. Elijah squinted at them, shielding his eyes from the sun, watching as the storm roiled in a fashion most unusual. He was simple, but not stupid. He knew that something unnatural was happening. Dangerous, even.

"Liam," Elijah called, "It's time to go, son."

Liam looked up from his task, hands held on the fishing rod, and frowned. He made to argue, but a gust of cold wind stopped the words in his lungs, and he nodded, reeling the line back from the water and hurrying to set the equipment away. Elijah sat down, gripping the oars, pushing his strength to the task. That there was no sign of the storm earlier was worrying. Elijah knew the Gulf almost as well as his own name, and could predict any weather days in advance. No storm could just appear like that. The fear of it being the work of demons made Elijah row faster, the rough wood digging into calloused palms. He'd heard the stories, after all, what had happened to Bramwell, to Tristram, and even to Westmarch. 

"Pa, what's that in the water?" Liam asked, peering out into the uneasy waters, waves that had been calm only a half hour ago. He leaned precariously over the edge of the boat, and Elijah reached forward, plucking him away and setting him back into safety.

"Liam, you can't keep doing that," Elijah scolded, "Now what if you fell overboard and got hurt?"

"But," Liam almost whined, "I saw something, I swear!"

Elijah didn't sigh, but only barely, "You saw something last time, and what was it then? Sea foam. And the time before that too."

"But pa, look!" Liam did whine that time, and Elijah finally let himself sigh, before he carefully shook his head and reminded himself that he was a boy once too. Ignoring Liam wouldn't help anything, so Elijah turned his gaze, quickly scanning the area his son was frantically pointing too. It was hard to make out anything over the peaking white caps, and the salty wind made his eyes squint. 

"There's nothing–" Elijah stopped. The sound of choked shouting could be heard, and when Elijah focused on them, he found them originating from a nearby spot in the ocean. An arm shot out of the water and up into the air, thrashing for a moment, before it sunk back down. Elijah almost couldn't believe his eyes. A person? 

"I told you, I told you! We gotta help them!" Liam shouted, standing up from his seat as if to jump into the Gulf himself. Elijah stopped him with a broad palm on the shoulder.

"I need you to stay here," Elijah stated with solemnity, before hurrying to tie off a rope on the side of the boat, "You need to make sure this rope doesn't fall into the water, okay?" 

Liam took the offered rope with a firm nod, steel and determination in his young eyes, "Got it."

Elijah turned back to the waters, cinching the other end of the sturdy rope around his waist. The disturbance in the waves was still strong enough that he could see where they were, but the bubbles were worrying. He hadn't seen them come back up for air, which only meant bad things. Elijah took in a deep breath, resolve flaring, before diving off into the deep. Under the darkness of the water, he could make out the faintest form of a body, weak struggles against the undertow. 

 

I was drowning. My body was fighting, and not in the noble sense. It was dirty fighting, scrapping and kicking to try and survive, trying to get some air in my lungs. I broke the surface of the water, but was barely given a moment to recoup, before another wave of water slammed into me, tossing me until the current stole me into the deep. Any attempts to push back up were met with failure, dragging myself further down, struggling against an enemy I couldn't fight. The water was cold, frighteningly so, and when I tried to find direction, it stung my eyes. My thoughts were frantic and useless, a mortal mind that could only focus on the fact that I was dying.

Another brief victory, and I was sent back up, but it was a cruel and vicious cycle. I flailed to try and gain purchase, but more waves roared past, and as I shot my hand into the air, my shout was lost to the wind. A gasp, what was likely my last breath– far too short and not enough– and the undertow pulled me back. The crashing waves above went silent, and I fell. Muscles in my arms and legs locked up, and I curled in on myself, exhaling in desperation, sending out the last of my air into the sea, little bubbles drifting upwards. My lungs burned, demanding I breath, flawed survival instinct betraying me. I held out for as long as I could, before a moment of weakness doomed me, and I inhaled. The flood of water rushed into my lungs, thousands of swords stabbing me, and I moved to shout in pain, but nothing came of it. The frozen water entrapped me, and I spasmed, my chest heaving, convulsions twisting my insides. More gasps, but only water again. 

It wasn't fair, I knew. Urzael had given up so much to get me back, and yet I died, alone and cold, suffocated by the very thing I had once found so enchanting. Maybe it was penance, in a way. A thousand deaths such as this one, to atone for what I'd done. But where my other death had been terrifying and blind, drowning at least gave a sort of comfort. The soundlessness of the ocean, the weightlessness, soothing even. I should have been angry, but with the strength fading from my limbs, so too did the vigor leave my mind. 

Slowly, the light of the surface faded away, my movements becoming sluggish, until I stopped moving entirely. Panic faded away, replaced by a comfortable numbness, my heartbeat slowly losing direction and strength. My arms floated outwards, still poised in front of me, but all thoughts had become smothered by a blanket of complacency. So this was it.

My head drifted to the side, and through the murky darkness of the sea, I could see brief movement, coming closer. I wondered at what it could be, until suddenly it was there, in front of me, two bright eyes and dark skin, something tied around the waist. It– no, _he_ , he came closer, like he was made for the water. Before I knew what was happening, he was swimming upwards, an arm around my side, taking me up to the surface again. Nothing made sense, the way my eyes refused to stay open, the vice of emotion on my mind, ruling my thoughts with sudden terror. I didn't want to die.

We crested the water, dark clouds overhead. There was a boat, and the man heaved me into it, before sitting down beside me, a small boy by his side. 

"Breathe!" He demanded, before performing some complex string of actions, pushing down on my chest, until I was heaving out water, sputtering, coughing out the brine in my lungs. Once that was done, though, I couldn't find the strength to move. Cold stuck my limbs together, freezing me, and I wouldn't have believed my hands were still attached if I couldn't see them.

"C-c-cold," I spat, curling inwards, squeezing my eyes shut. A little trickle of warmth escaped my eyes, tears, disgusting mortal emotions, as I lay shivering on the wooden boards of the fishing boat. The clothes on my body were soaked through, rough and frost against my skin. 

"Liam! Get blankets around 'em!" The man shouted, before grabbing two wooden paddles and rowing like our lives depended on it. They probably did, with the way the ocean was roaring beside us, the dark clouds warbling above. The boy, Liam, hurriedly grabbed some cloth from under the seats. He threw it on me, before realizing the mistake, the way the wool soaked up the water. Another blink, and he was flitting around me, frantically rubbing the blanket like a towel, drying off what he could, before throwing it aside and grabbing another. This time, he hauled me up into a sitting position, before wrapping it around me, followed by another. My shivering intensified, like the sudden cold winds around us, the howling waves. 

"The box under my seat, Liam, grab it!" The man shouted again. Liam pulled it out, reading the words painted carefully.

" _El-ij-ah's_?" The boy had to shout over the storm. The man, Elijah, made some affirmative.

"Get the red stick, and strike the tip with the black paper in there!" Elijah affirmed. Liam fumbled around in the box, before taking out a reddish tube. Another breath, and the black paper was struck across the top, igniting it. Liam almost squeaked in surprise as it flared, but steeled his resolve, and held the thing high. It burned a brilliant orange, shooting light up into the sky. A minute passed in that fashion, before in the near distance, a similar thing occurred. Elijah exclaimed, before throwing his entire body into rowing towards that light, while Liam still stood high, and I watched blearily. 

I blinked, my eyelids dragging like sandpaper, only to reopen when I heard more shouting around me. Land. The boat was stopped, the ocean tucked away, though the storm still raged on. My head was full of cotton, my body still spasming in an attempt to regain worth, like I was covered in a thousand needles that burnt into my flesh. Each breath I took was haggard, an intense labor, the pain of the water still fresh and agonizing.

"We need a doctor!" Elijah shouted, and I realized that he had picked me up, like it was nothing, rushing me into a blurry crowd of people. I tried to pick out where I was, a city or a village, forest or desert, but nothing was connecting in my mind. My throat opened to try and speak, but I only hacked and coughed instead. 

"Come with me," An old woman's voice, yet strong. She lead us towards a house, but the encroaching darkness of my vision was making it harder and harder to think. There was a hand on my arm, and I forced my eyes open.

"Are they gonna be okay?" Liam asked, curiosity and concern that was so much like Urzael when we were young that it hurt. Elijah answered soothingly, but empty words I couldn't hear, as Liam turned his attention back to me and tried to smile, "Don't be scared, you'll be fine!"

It was so silly, a child comforting me. Me, an aeons old being, one who'd seen the rise and fall of empires, crushed demons to dust under my boot. And yet, even stranger still was the fact that his words did seem to comfort me, giving me the smallest ember of courage as I finally let the stubborn embrace of rest envelope me. 

Perhaps I would be fine.


	20. Riposo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...The recollections made my stomach twist in some unfamiliar way, the emotions far stronger than I could ever remember, and I found myself almost choked up by it. If Elijah noticed my intense emotional response to the food, he didn't mention it. For that, I was grateful..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riposo: _The beat of rest at the end of a measure._

My awakening was a gradual thing, piecing together my consciousness from the patchwork of information available to me. Through muted mortal senses, I could feel the strings of fate around me, the unsure whispering of angelic chords to my ears. Faint enough to be mere stirrings, unobtainable words to me for the rest of eternity. The knowledge should have struck me in twain, but it didn't hurt as much as I would've thought. Just a persistent, dull ache, throbbing of my heart and soul at the vast gulf of the unknown that stretched out before me. 

Slowly, I opened my eyes. My eyelids were heavy, dragging, but it was done, and I was rewarded for my efforts. Sunshine filtered in from curtained windows, pale imitation of holy light, yet the sensation of the warmth on my skin so foreign to me. The sky was tinged red by the rising dawn, like spilled blood across the horizon, calling forth painful memories and making breath hitch in my freshly formed lungs. Before, every movement I made was effortless, my body as insubstantial as air and hardy as a mountain. Yet now, even the simple act of preparing my throat for words made dull slivers of pain shard me. I let the gathered air for my question seep out of my lungs, closing my eyes, trying to center myself. Distantly, past the strumming of impossible harmony, I could hear the ocean. It almost made my lips twitch up into a smile, before the bitterness of my memories tinted it into a frown. The creaking and groaning of the floorboards disappeared into the background, consumed by the sound of the waves. 

"You're awake," A gruff voice greeted. I turned my head to face the man, my reflections tattered. I tried to remember who he was, until the memory slammed into me, of water and darkness and a man sent from the heavens to save me. Elijah.

"It's you," I whispered, before lowering my head in some semblance of proper respect, "You saved my life. You have my eternal gratitude."

Elijah nodded, though his discomfort was clear, and as he stepped into the room I could barely perceive a bowl held in his hands. The smell of cinnamon wafted over, and I had to force myself not to look around for Imperius. A mortal nose, I reminded myself. But, that didn't stop the images of an angel in golden armor, standing in front of a crowd. The recollections made my stomach twist in some unfamiliar way, the emotions far stronger than I could ever remember, and I found myself almost choked up by it. If Elijah noticed my intense emotional response to the food, he didn't mention it. For that, I was grateful. 

"Liam helped make you some porridge," Elijah awkwardly stated, before clearing his throat, "I can help you with it, if you're not able. No shame in that."

I shook my head nonetheless, "I should manage."

Elijah helped me sit up, the blankets still wrapped around me, and I welcomed the movement, brief and stubborn as it was. Then, with deft hands, Elijah placed a small table in front of me, on which the bowl was placed, with the spoon beside it. While he went to grab some water, I found myself staring at the meal. 

I knew what food was. After roaming Sanctuary in mortal disguise for ten years, there was precious little I didn't know about what being human entailed. Their secrets had been laid bare to me, an angelic being, as plain as a cloudless day. I'd even engaged in eating, though not to the extent most mortals followed. The actions of eating weren't new to me, but as I shakily placed a spoonful of porridge into my mouth, I realized what I'd been missing. The taste was almost indescribable, so foreign and yet enticing. I could sense the cinnamon, and the milk, the finely crushed oats that coated my tongue. Even as I swallowed, the taste lingered on, the ghostly fragments of the thing. More curious too was the way it slid down my throat, how strange, and settled in my stomach, a small yet still substantial weight. As an immortal, I'd believed I'd known everything about mortals, strictly from observation, and left it at that. I was fool. 

"Easy now," Elijah cautioned, walking back in with the pitcher of water, "If you eat to fast, you'll hurt yourself." 

I slowed my pace, taking the new information to heart, despite how much I wanted to ignore it. When I finished with my meal, Elijah handed me some water. I eyed the glass dubiously, the remembrance of my drowning still strong, as if the liquid would spring from the container to finish the job. At Elijah's coaxing, I drank it anyway, though with lots of uncertainty. That all melted away as soon as the water hit my throat, of course, and I started to chug it. 

"Careful! I know you're thirsty, but you'll tear something if you don't ease up," Elijah warned. Another mortal word. Thirsty. I set the glass back down with wide eyes, trying to process all the new information afforded to me. Was this what Tyrael had been experiencing for years? The way my heart raced in my chest, the lingering taste of cinnamon in my mouth, the cold water that still captivated my throat. Elijah pulled up a chair beside my bed, pushing some of his curly hair back and clasping his hands in his lap.

"I know you might want to get back to sleep, but I just have a few questions, if that's alright," He informed, voice pitched low and comforting. Without my angelic eyes, I couldn't just stare straight into his soul, pick out the information I wanted and file it away. Instead, I was forced to examine his face, studying the wrinkles like they could tell a story, the way his brown eyes soothed.

"Okay," I nodded, bright hairs brushing the sides of my face, and I momentarily blinked, distracted by the sight of my own nose in my field of view. 

"What's your name?" Elijah asked. 

"Aerael."

"Well, Aerael, do you remember how you were caught out in that storm?" Elijah inquired, and I shifted my gaze, turning back to look out the window. If I concentrated, I could hear the ocean. But that wasn't what I was looking at. Instead, I closed my eyes, and thought of Urzael.

"My brother. There was an accident," I began, then stopped, the memories blurring, not the crystal clarity I remember, "No, no. I was looking for someone. And my brother saved me, but..." I stuttered, an invisible wave of something choking the words in my throat. Pain, but different. I blinked, bringing a hand up to my stinging eyes, the warm liquid that fell, "...he died."

Elijah leaned forward after a second of deliberation, wrapping his arms around me, and I found myself shaking, unexpectedly. Though I tried to force the words back out, all that I could do was cry. The memory of Urzael hadn't hurt before, but now that I was mortal, my emotions lorded over me, lacing me with unspeakable sorrow. He was gone forever, it was all my fault, and let myself sob and wail out the pain in my heart.

Soon, the tremors died down, and the tears slowed to a trickle, before stopping entirely. I was left feeling drained, occasionally shivering, gross sniffing. My eyes felt inflamed and raw, just like my wounded heart, and Elijah thankfully didn't mention the sight as he pulled away. Instead, his voice was still as comforting as before, and I imagined if I could see sense it, he'd be the scent of hickory. 

"I'm sorry," Elijah rumbled. I bunched the blankets up under my hands, and sighed. 

"I know."

A few minutes of silence passed, as I composed myself, but it was so much harder to remain poised and indifferent when emotions lurked around every corner, hidden beasts I couldn't even hope to slay. Like I was a recruit again, newly born and wielding a sword of pine against monsters thrice my height. 

"You said you were looking for someone. Who was it?" Elijah prodded lightly. New memories sprung up, like eager little flowers under my scrutiny, like I was the sun and my mere presence drew them out. Of swords and armor, golden, brilliant light and beautiful songs. The assuring embrace of Justice, the whisper of love, far and away from the turmoil of strife and uncertainty. The smell of lemon. 

"Tyrael," I whispered, my voice laced with aeons of memories, both incredibly heavy and impossibly weightless at the same time. At his name, an entire forest of thoughts burst forth from my mind, every smile he made, every soft murmur of his voice. Mere mortal words couldn't even begin to describe it all, so I settled on the closest thing, as meager as it was, "We were in love."

Elijah stared openly, but I couldn't seem to notice. I loved him. Tyrael and I were eternal, and eternal companions without pause. Yet, my recollections strayed darker, bringing forth the image of his mortal form. How foolish I had been. The look on his face when I'd chosen death, and I realized far too late what a coward I was. While most memories shimmered with uncertainty, the memory of his face was burned into me. Regret and shame fought for dominance over my soul, and I almost let it consume me again, before a hand touched my arm. I opened my eyes, and Elijah stared back, but there was something different in that stare. It was open, and held the depths of uncountable sorrows. 

"Years back, when Liam was born, I lost someone too," Elijah began, his voice gravelly with ghosts of the past, "Someone very near and dear to me. Some days, I wonder if there was anything else I could've done to save 'em. Maybe if I'd noticed sooner, or been stronger."

Elijah closed his eyes, and sighed, deep and empty, "The past is in the past. All you can do is look forward."

Words failed me, so I could only continue to look at those eyes, mourning intertwined with his entire being, a quality I hadn't notice until now. Yet, it didn't dictate him. His emotions were a part of him, but didn't control who he was. The silence stretched on.

"I'll leave you to get some rest. Liam and I will be back soon, don't worry," Elijah cleared his throat, before standing up and stepping out of the room. He closed he door gently behind himself, leaving me to think upon what he'd said. In the sudden quiet, I could hear the ocean again. If I focused again, I could hear the angelic chorus, forever unobtainable. Instead, I closed my eyes, let out the air in my lungs. With the door closed the door behind Elijah, the stillness flooded in. I stood up from the bed and started towards the window, but the silence hung like weights from my neck, slowly dragging me down to the floor. After five beats, my head had bowed as far as it could. Ten, and my shoulders slumped under the weight. Before I was halfway through to the window, my knees buckled and I simply collapsed in the middle of the floor, the carpet cushioning me. The tears, didn't come; I just lay there for a time, dully contemplating the shards of my heart, before I fell asleep


	21. Andante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "... My expression must have turned to reminiscent melancholy, for Liam poked me, his eyes curious and wide. I blinked, setting the spoon down..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andante: _To play at a walking pace_

I awoke in bed. Not, as I would've expected, still strewn across the floor, limbs tangled together in a heap of sorrow. Instead, the sheets were pulled over me, soft things, yet well worn, as the light of an afternoon sun flooded the room. I reached up to rub at my eyes, scratching away the itchy remnants of tears, until I could blink without irritation. There were no remnants of the terrible turmoil that had gripped me, the sea of emotions I succumbed to. It was disconcerting, in a way. That my feelings would be so mercurial, flighty. Which wasn't to say I was unhappy with the news, just...confused. As often was the case with the mortals, I supposed. 

I got up to stand. I couldn't remember if Elijah had said he was leaving or not, or if Liam was still home. The blurry recollection of thoughts was yet another human trait I found hard to bare. Already, my memories of home were becoming tougher and tougher to remember. Soon, I worried I'd forget entirely. Forget the set of Urzael's shoulders, the smoke in Malthael's breath, or even worse, the lemon tinge that Tyrael held claim to. And then where would that leave me? Alone, again. 

Focus. I took deep breaths, until the sirens in my mind ceased. Instead, I forced myself to walk unsteadily towards the door, the wooden floorboards creaking under my weight. Barefoot, I could feel the roughness, the cold of an occasional nail hammered in. I experimentally wiggled my toes, hearing each individual bone work in tandem, before reminding myself of my task. The door. The door was large, and oaken, assembled from dead trees and sanded carefully. It had a metal doorknob, and a set of hinges. I could see each vein and grain of the wood it had been crafted from, and as I touched my hand against it, I blinked at the smooth feeling. Doors. There hasn't been many doors in the Heavens, not exactly. Archways and open spaces, to lend for flying, to feel the breeze in any area, but no doors. I stared at the door, and felt a familiar ache in my soul. Homesick, I believed the mortals called it. I took care to close the door quietly behind myself, and determined to ignore the lonely keen of my heart.

I walked out into a hallway. Beneath me, I could feel softness, a rug of some sort, leading the way. The fibers tickled my soles as I stepped with uncertainty, wobbling down the hall. A window on my right, unfettered by curtains, displayed the full glory of the ocean. Closer, I could see a small town, or rather, the small town. It wasn't the size of Westmarch, but– Well, nothing would be, I supposed. It was still larger than the village of Bramwell. But Westmarch had been sprawling, and Bramwell quaint. I didn't dare to dredge up any further memories of the places, and other locations I'd traveled to came up blank. So, I turned my attention back to the town. Wooden houses, stone streets. Nestled next to the ocean, only a brief walk away, like they were afraid something would happen to the water if they were any farther. I could see the people, walking around, tall and small and young and old. Some of them were happy couples, too, hand in hand as they crossed cobble streets. I backed away from the window, and quietly moved the rest of the way down the hall, stuffing the miasma of emotions back down as I gingerly opened the door.

It was a living room that greeted me, open windows to let in the breeze, rugs on wooden floorboards, worn yet loved furniture filling the space. Off to the side, I could see a table, three chairs pulled up to if, one with a wobbly leg. There was a kitchen on the other end of the room, with a stove and some cabinets, a potted plant in the corner. On some of the living room walls, shelves were nailed. And upon those shelves, various knickknacks and items of personal and sentimental value. The entire house was cozy, yet obviously filled with love. It was a home. A true home. Like Mildgyth's. In the Heavens, there was no such place as a home. Not in this sense. There were areas one might frequent, or the room you rarely would relax in, but never like this. Never the special touches, faded pictures on the wall, scuffed floors and warm smells. It made me feel...cheated, almost. That we had missed so many things, and had even perpetuated a cycle of distant apathy. Perhaps the war had required it, long ago, and it'd become engrained. I couldn't remember a time of peace. Even this brief moment felt precious, snatch of safety stolen in time. I tried to remind myself that this was my life, now, but the connection was still hard. 

Footsteps. I turned, instinctively trying to pick out the scent, before I realized the folly of my attempt. Then the front door opened, and Liam entered. He carried a bucket of water in his arms, almost dropping it as he closed the door behind himself, his boots leaving muddy imprints on the mat as he whipped them off. He set the bucket down after a brief 'whew', before blinking and turning his attention to you, his eyes owlish.

"You're awake!" Liam exclaimed, running over to me. Before I could even greet him in return, he'd latched on to me. He was still short, a young child, barely a teen, and so he barely passed my hip in height. The hug was welcome, though all I could think to do was awkwardly pat his head. He seemed to remember his manners after a moment, jumping back, his hair wild and tangled with the ocean breeze.

"Pa said you were still sleeping earlier, but then you woke up, so I made you some porridge– oh, did you like it?" The words were a rush, childish enthusiasm. It reminded of me of the recruits, yet so carefree, so innocent. I nodded, and he continued, "When we brought you back yesterday, Pa was really afraid you wouldn't make it. He kept checking up on you to make sure you weren't un...unani...unanimamated? Dead."

I shifted a little, as if the ocean water still flooded my lungs, phantom pains, and cleared my throat, "Oh. I'm fine, worry not."

"What's your name?" Liam asked, plopping down on the sofa. He unconsciously seemed to shake his leg back and forth, pent up energy just waiting to be expended. 

"Aerael," I answered, taking a seat on the empty chair. Without my conscious effort, my shoulders slumped and my back hunched. A far cry from the imposing figure I cut in the Heavens. But had that really been me? Or a wartime necessity that I'd fooled myself in believing my own desire?

"Aer. Aerael. Kinda like Auriel, right?" Liam jittered. I reeled back before I realized it, as if I'd been punched. It was an unpleasant feeling that I didn't know how to explain.

"No," I frowned, and settled on guilt, mixed with an acidic shame, "I'm afraid not."

If Liam noticed, he didn't mention it, opting instead to absently scratch his face, "Hey, where are you from, anyway?"

"Somewhere far away."

"Like Westmarch?" Liam inquired. 

"A little farther than that," I snorted. Without the echoing chorus of the angels, my voice was plain yet deep. Mortal. My laugh was no longer a powerful, immortal thing. This one was slightly scratchy and familiar. I found that I preferred it this way.

"Okay, but why were you in the water?" 

"I...fell."

"You must've fallen pretty far," Liam eyed me in a somewhat searching manner. 

"You don't know the half of it, kid."

The rest of the conversation was cut off, as my stomach rumbled. The feeling was one of discomfort, like my insides were being pinched, and my face must have shown it, for Liam jumped up in excitement.

"You're hungry!" He exclaimed. Then, with a gleam in his eyes, he grabbed my hand and began to drag me towards the kitchen, "Come on, lemme try and make something!"

I allowed myself to be pulled, tilting my head, "Are you sure?"

"Pa says I can't cook without an adult nearby, but you're an adult," Liam smiled, pleased with himself, a touch mischievous, "I'm gonna make the porridge. You can supervise."

I was understandably cautious, but relented, taking up a position nearby to watch over Liam. The boy hurried around, taking out the necessary ingredients and then unceremoniously putting them in a pot. While he fiddled with the stove, he gestured imploringly at me.

"Oh, I left the water by the door! Can you get it?" He pleaded. I nodded, bemused, and grabbed the bucket easily. Liam beamed, "Woah, you're strong!"

I preened inwardly at the knowledge that my strength had not left me entirely during my transformation. Following Liam's directions, I poured some of the water into the pot, before setting the bucket down again. 

"Now we wait," Liam stated, the heat of the stovetop slowly bringing the pot to a boil. He placed a wooden spoon in, stirring the mix occasionally. I watched, impassive. 

"I need to go get something," Liam decided, rushing out of the room and leaving me to...occasionally stir, I supposed. Before I could start to worry, Liam hurried back in, a book in his arms. A blink, and he placed the book in my arms, before peering into the pot and humming. 

"It's done!" He announced, scurrying to get some bowls. I glanced down at the book I now held, confused. It was ornate, bound in leather, whatever original title long since rubbed away, the edges scuffed and pages thick from use. And yet, it still smelled of parchment, the faintest sliver of a library. I clutched the book a little tighter, and tore my attention away. Liam was struggling to spoon porridge into the bowls, so I placed the book down at the table and went to help him. With my assistance, we moved to the wooden table, taking our seats on the sturdy chairs. 

"Pa always makes porridge when I'm sick," Liam nodded, before pausing, "Even though you're not really sick, it'll still help, probably."

I was not familiar with the magical healing properties of whatever concoctions Elijah made, but I also presumed it could only aid me. His son, though unskilled, should still posses some innate ability in his cooking. With that in mind, I dipped the spoon into the bowl, and ate.

The cinnamon hit me first. Like before, it was a somewhat creamy mixture, oats coating my tongue. Different, though, was the addition of some unidentifiable accent. Apples, I realized after a moment. The meal was so homely, yet so much more. As I ate, I wondered what kind of food Tyrael liked the most, if all mortal food was this enticing.

My expression must have turned to reminiscent melancholy, for Liam poked me, his eyes curious and wide. I blinked, setting the spoon down.

"Yes?" 

Liam squinted. I noticed his meal had already been finished, and wondered if I had lost track of time. Then, in a flash of motion, Liam opened the book that sat beside us and flipped it open to a specific page. He held it up with slightly unsteady hands, pointing.

"Is this you?" He asked. I focused on the drawing he referred to, the thick inked lines that ended in angelic wings, shaded gleaming armor, faded hood pulled back. My face stared back at me, expression steadfast, firm. Suddenly, my throat felt dry. The words on the page didn't shift or change.

"What book is this?" I croaked.

"It's called," Liam turned the book back around, staring at the binding, "The Book of Tyrael. Pa got it from Great Uncle Cain, who got it from someone named Tyrael," Liam stopped, "I guess he was the one that wrote it."

"Yes. Yes, he did," I whispered. The familiar cursive of Tyrael's hand, sliding across the page. I could see the ink spots, where he'd rested his hand for too long, or become caught in memory. The page was descriptive of some place in the Heavens, I noted, but each line still managed to draw me back to the picture, the rendering of me. Tyrael had spent a lot of time on it, I knew. Each detail lovingly rendered, like a form of worship, or remembrance. It was, I distantly realized, the only drawing in the book of an angel with their hood pulled down. Not even Izual was granted that honor.

"Did you know him?" Liam gasped, full of excitement, eager for knowledge. Then, he paused, "Wait. If he drew you, and this is an angel..." His big eyes somehow grew bigger, "Are you an angel?"

There was no point in lying to the child, so I nodded, closing my eyes for a moment, "I was an angelic lieutenant, but not anymore. I...chose to leave it behind."

"Why?" Liam leaned closer.

"I did something very bad, not so long ago. Nothing for young ears," I shook my head, and Liam groaned in disappointment, so I took pity, "But, I am searching for Tyrael, the one who made that book. He was...special to me."

"Pa says love makes you do weird stuff," Liam agreed, before hitting a small palm on the table, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone! Your secret is safe with me, lieu...lie...lieutenant."

"Please," I wearily interjected, "Aerael is fine."

The conversation ended there. I could tell Liam wanted to ask a million other questions, but seemed to sense my mood, and let the silence remain. Some time passed. I picked at my meal. Finally, Liam jumped up from the chair.

"Let's go to the market!" Liam declared. I looked at him, furrowed my brow.  
"Why?"

"Pa said I need to pick up some stuff, and walking around alone is boring," Liam crinkled his nose. I noted his squirming under my judgement, reminded of the recruits once more, and gave a small smile.

"Alright. I'll have to let you lead the way, though."

Liam seemed to practically vibrate with excitement at the prospect, as if I had given him an incredible and daunting task. He looked a little star struck, too, but he reeled it in. Then, with deft movements, he swiped up the bowls and threw them into the sink, before bounding towards the door.

"Come on, let's go!"

I followed.


	22. Placido

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...I struggled to keep up with my young charge, my mind in a hundred different places. The soldier in me screamed at such close quarters, at the possibility of attacks, and I had to remind myself that everything was fine. That no demons lurked around the corners, and that the casual intimacy displayed was not some form of disrespect or attempt at harm. And yet, I remained agitated..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Placido: _Calm, peaceful_

For the first time in a day, I stepped outside. Liam bounded ahead of me, but my steps were more subdued, as I took it all in. The slight breeze on my face, brushing my hair around. The sounds of the town, bustling, the feeling of the sun warming me. Faintly, I could smell salt, and with my mortal eyes, the blue sky seemed both duller yet more infinite than before. My steps forward were slow into that wide open space, yet I relished it. Angels were made for the outside, sheer beings of sound and light, not meant to be stuck indoors. I hadn't realized how cramped I'd felt until there was nothing but vastness before me. With the sky looking down upon me, I felt reinvigorated. I arched my back, flaring out my wings–

Oh, wait.

Suddenly, my enthusiasm became diminished. I looked behind myself, and it was still the same as prior; wingless, flightless, grounded. A prickling sensation crawled across my spine, despite no reason for it.

"Come on!" Liam called out, waving ahead of me. I tore myself from my melancholy, and continued after him. Yet, I couldn't shake the weight of solemnity from my shoulders. In fact, even my steady steps seemed fit to remind me of my past. Of Malthael, and how he had always walked across the Heavens, and given the opportunity, would remain on the ground. It had been a trait that only further served to ostracize him from the other angels, a trait that his followers had, inevitably, shared. If I closed my eyes, I might be able to pretend that I was back again, walking to go find Urzael in the gardens. But even then, I'd never been one to remain flightless for long, the lessons from Imperius burned into every fiber of my soul. I kept my eyes shut, but it was, I knew, a fruitless effort. And foolish, considering. I opened my eyes and continued ahead.

"We need to go to the blacksmith," Liam stated, his boots stomping along the packed dirt path. I focused, paying my surroundings more attention, slanting my eyes, pulling myself up high and squaring my shoulders. My prior carelessness had cost too many lives, and so it was better, I decided, to remain constantly vigilant, than to act a fool and die. 

The house was behind us, only a minute away. It was tall and sturdy, near a cliff but not quite. From the door a dirt path winded, trailing down the hill we walked, leading to the town proper. I swiveled my head, the entire ocean sprawling to my left, before I centered on the town. Wooden houses, mixed with stone. The harbor by the ocean, ships tied down. From the town, far away, I spied a forest. And to the right, I could see a cobblestone road, wide and worn, going to...

"Where does that road lead to?" I pointed. 

Liam continued to kick up dirt clouds, barely glancing over to the road I referred to as he replied, "Westmarch!"

Well, that solved that. Aside from the road, there was another forest in the distance, but that was it. Or at least, that was all I could see. As frustrating as that fact was, I could only let the feeling pass, before resuming my vigilance.

"You look like Pa when I was small," Liam told me. I blinked.

"What?"

"All shifty and...square."

"Is...square an adjective?"

"Like this," Liam rolled his eyes, before mimicking my posture. In his clumsy, childish attempts, I could see the hard lines of my stance, the remnants of a soldier. I blinked again, before slowly forcing myself at ease. Which meant I only unclenched my fists, my muscles still strained taunt for any instant, but it was a start. Liam seemed to accept my effort, at least. 

The rest of the short walk to town was uneventful, save for Liam tripping on some rocks. Without my armor, I couldn't help but feel exposed. By the time we stepped onto the cobble streets, Liam seemed to have gained a layer of dirt that coated him, his boots caked with mud. Mud from...somewhere. I wasn't sure. His energy levels were still blazing brightly, the journey having only fueled him further. He jumped and skipped, ran and bounced. Childish frivolity that none would have dared to do back in the Heavens. It was almost infectious, and I was once again struck by the paradox of humanity. 

"Hi Miss Marston!" Liam greeted, "Hi, Miss Sato!" And waving to a woman who passed us by. The woman waved back, before tucking more wispy strands of blonde hair back into her braid, gesturing exuberantly to her companion. Liam had already focused elsewhere by the time I had catalogued them, so I hurried to keep up, following a flurry of greetings to people in the town.

"Hey, Mister Barnes!" 

"Hey yourself, Liam."

"Hello, Missus Connell, Mister Whitehill."

"Why hello there, Liam."

"Hi, Mister Malik!"

"Hi, Liam. Here's the bread your father asked for."

I struggled to keep up with my young charge, my mind in a hundred different places. The soldier in me screamed at such close quarters, at the possibility of attacks, and I had to remind myself that everything was fine. That no demons lurked around the corners, and that the casual intimacy displayed was not some form of disrespect or attempt at harm. And yet, I remained agitated. By the time we finally arrived at the blacksmith, my entire body felt like an electric strike had charged it, my pupils dilated and my breathing shallow. I took care to open the door for Liam, watching our backs, before shutting it and scoping out the claustrophobic shop. It wasn't that small, I distantly noted, windows opened and light spilling in. But even then, the ceiling felt too low, the air too little. As Liam walked forward, talking excitedly to the woman at the counter, I stepped back, trying to steady myself with deep breaths, close my eyes and calm down.

A hand on my shoulder. I spun around, bristling, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. But the illusion of a demon melted away with a blink, instead showing the face of a gruff man.

"Hey. What are you doing?" He asked. His bushy brows seemed to emulate an expression of mistrust, and his cropped beard looked to swallow up the slight downturn of his mouth. 

"What are you doing?" I retorted, defensive for no reason except that it seemed right. 

"Working. Or I was, until I saw someone having flashbacks in my shop," The man grumbled, glaring dispassionately at me. 

That stopped me, "What?"

The man peered at me for a moment, as if studying me, "Huh. Your commander not tell you?"

I frowned, "If you aren't going to provide anything helpful, we don't have reason to speak."

"Easy, kid. You're wound up more than a conduit," The man rolled his eyes, before wiping his hands off on his smock, the grime and soot leaving dark streaks. He extended his hand to me, "Name's Geoffrey."

My frown didn't waver, but I extended my hand, mirroring the action, "Aerael," I replied, as he grabbed my hand and shook it firmly. After a moment, he released his grip, and turned to the counter. Liam was still there, talking and gesturing exuberantly to the lady. Geoffrey made a wry expression. 

"Celeste, I'll be back in a minute," Geoffrey waved to the woman behind the counter. She smiled warmly, and blew him a kiss. Liam made a noise of surprised disgust at the display, but my traitorous heart twinged. Geoffrey walked to outside work area, motioning for me to follow. As soon as we stepped back outdoors, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from my chest. Not by much, but enough that my lungs expanded thankfully. 

"Don't stand too close to the fire, now," Geoffrey grunted, before going to some of his tools. Then, he sat down by his grindstone, a worn blade in his hands, and began the sharpening process. I stared, though unfamiliar with the acts of a blacksmith. 

"I was a solider, years back. Stationed with Elijah, actually," Geoffrey stated, the sparks of friction flying from the grindstone, "We were in battle. Wasn't really a battle, though, more of a slaughter."

Geoffrey stopped the grindstone for a moment, examining the blade for some flaw, before continuing, "My squadron and I found a cave. Some sort of demonic artifact inside, or something. Left over from the original invasion, I'm guessing."

Unintentionally, I had begun to lean forward, my anxiety dissipating from my frame. 

"The thing activated, locked us in. Started killing us off one by one," Geoffrey pressed the blade further, the louder sound filling the space, "Elijah and I, we tried to get out. The thing was toying was us, I think. Left us for last."

A pause. I could imagine the screams that filled the silence, the despair, the voices of soldiers with lives cut short. Geoffrey cleared his throat. 

"Figured that was the end, just the two of us life," Geoffrey started the grindstone back up, "Never figured that it would be Celly that saved me."

Celly? I filtered through my memory, stopping on the visage of the woman behind the counter, "Your wife."

"Yeah. She and Saleem, actually. They both had managed to break in, had a whole squadron of their own to get us out of there," Geoffrey smiled, but the smile slipped a little, burned at the edges, "Saleem...didn't make it."

"Saleem and Elijah were...close?" I ventured, pulling the pieces together. Geoffrey sighed, took the sword off the grindstone.

"Married. Elijah wasn't the same after Saleem died, raising Liam all on his own," Geoffrey wiped down the metallic scraps from the sword, giving it a once over, before putting it down for later. He looked at me, staring me straight in the eyes as he stood, "You're a soldier, ain't you?"

"I was," I replied, succinct, "But, not anymore."

Geoffrey laughed, barking the sound, "No one ever stops being a soldier. It's the kind of thing you'll carry for the rest of your life."

Geoffrey went to the side of the wall, rummaging around. I stared, slightly confounded. After a moment, he produced a set of slightly worn gauntlets. He set them down on his workbench, but before he went back to work, he looked at me. Really looked at me.

"Lemme hammer you some armor before you leave."

I blinked, "Today? I–"

"No, kid. When you leave. You won't be staying here for long, I think. You've got that restless look about you," Geoffrey stated, turning back to his pieces, "I was the same, for a while. I won't tell you not to go, but I think we'll all feel better if you got some armor before you left."

The forge descended into a silence after that. Though, maybe silence was the wrong word. Geoffrey's hammering rang out, occasionally, and the sounds of the marketplace were still easily audible. If I focused, I could hear Liam still talking inside the store. The silence was comfortable, but a question curdled in my throat. It would make me feeble to ask, but maybe being mortal meant a few concessions of weakness.

"Do you get nightmares?" I asked, my voice with a hint of a rasp. Geoffrey didn't stop his work, but I could see him considering.

"Yeah. They called it battle fatigue, when I was still a soldier. I'd bet my shop you have it too."

My first instinct was to deny it. It was a weakness, and I did not have weaknesses. But then I paused, remembered my earlier thought, and swallowed my instinctive response, "Oh?"

"There's the nightmares, for one. But couple that with hypervigilance, irritability, and a whole mess of other things," Geoffrey turned the gauntlets over, scrutinizing some perceived imperfection. He sighed, then turned to me, "Liam'll be done soon, you'd best go and help the kid with the rest of his chores. Come back when you want that armor, and I'll tell you whatever else you wanna know."

I nodded, feeling uncomfortable grateful. I wanted to say something to thank him, but no words seemed to convey it. He waved me off with a gruff laugh.

"You're welcome. Now go, I have to work to do."  
I returned to the inner shop. Liam was trying to pick up some iron sword, and I quickly reached over to take it for him. He saw me, and beamed.

"Thanks! This is pa's sword," Liam nodded, letting me carry the broadsword. The weight was comforting in its familiarity, if nothing else. Liam waved exuberantly at Celeste as we left the store, the door closing behind it without a sound. The streets were just as busy as before, but they didn't feel quite so crushing as prior. After Geoffrey's words, I felt a little lighter. Still heavy with the weight of regret, of course, but not so much that the emotions threatened to overwhelm me. 

"We need to get one more thing," Liam explained, "Then we go home, cause I'm kinda tired and wanna nap."

Despite the absurdity of it, I smiled, and found I agreed. A nap would be nice. Wanting things was nice. By the time we'd reached the main market, my muscles weren't as tightly wound, and my senses had even relaxed from their ever alert position. Liam bounded up to a market stall, and as I moved to follow him, something stopped me.

Lemon. 

I turned too fast, nearly hitting someone in my haste to find the origin. What I found was not Tyrael, but yellow. Round spheres. Lemon, I presumed. Mortal lemons, that is. I stared, slightly dumbfounded. In the Heavens, there had been holy orchards. Lemons and apples, lavender and lilac. As with everything else, they were made for perfection. But the lemons I saw here were flawed. They had wrinkles, and the occasional splotch. They weren't perfectly shaped, and shared some asymmetry too. They weren't perfect, but I found I loved them more for their flaws than anything else. I wondered, briefly, how lemons of all things had come to the mortal realm. But then I realized, with a small smile. A bittersweet smile, truthfully. Inarius had always loved lemons. Generations of growth must have altered them, but lemons were still lemons, still so deeply reminiscent of Tyrael to me. And as ridiculous as it was, I found myself wishing I could thank Inarius. Thank him for the lemons, at first, but then thank him for his daring, thank him for creating the mortals and becoming something we'd never dreamed to try. Most of all, I wanted to thank him for the life he'd given me. A new chance, really. A new home.

Which was when I realized I was almost crying in the middle of the market, so I turned to find Liam, only to see that he was right beside me, laden bag in his arms. He squinted at me.

"Are you allergic to lemons?" He eventually asked.

"No," I replied. Then, not wishing to answer the many questions he'd doubtlessly have, I asked, "What's in the bag?"

Liam brought the bag closer to himself, "Nothin'."

I could smell the fish in the bag, but decided not to mention it. With longsword in my hand, and the bag in Liam's arms, we began to walk back. Back to Liam's home. My home, though only temporary. We trudged back up the hill, Liam jumping through mud puddles and shouting at the sea. By the time we reached the house proper, Liam's energy didn't show any signs of dropping. 

"I'll be in the kitchen!" He decreed, then scurried off in the house, not even bothering to take off his boots as he ran. Too excited to care. I moved to follow him, but the weight of the sword I still held made me pause. Well, it couldn't hurt to practice. Elijah wouldn't mind, I decided. I stepped into the backyard, the open green space overlooking the ocean. My steps were firm, and I planted myself on the earth, as if to stop myself from flying away. Then, a few deep breaths. The swings came naturally, fighting against some unseen foe, parrying and feinting. Sweat matted my hair to the sides of my face, but I soon didn't mind, far too busy with the battle. I paused sometime later, the sun having shifted some way in the sky. Someone was standing beside the house, and I blinked, willing them into focus. Elijah. I suddenly felt oddly guilty.

"Your sword...works," I explained lamely. That got a laugh out of him, dusty, brief.

"Liam kicked me out of the kitchen as soon as I got back. Said he was making us a surprise," Elijah explained. I set the sword down, grabbing a nearby bucket of water and a rag to towel the sweat off.

"Porridge?" I ventured. Elijah cracked the barest of smiles.

"It should be done by now. Let's head inside and find out," Elijah stated. I nodded. The sound of our steps across the dirt mixed with the distant roar of waves, the occasional call of birds. It was a little idyllic. I wondered why I didn't mind more. Our walk was brief, to the front door, and as I opened it, a flood of smells greeted me. Things I didn't yet have names for, ingredients, foods. But, I could smell the lemon as clear as day. Liam shoved the last plate of fish onto the table, waving us in. Beside me, Elijah smiled.

"It's times like this that remind me why I chose to give up what I had before. I never regret it."

I looked at Elijah, but he'd already moved on, greeting Liam with a deep voice and big, spinning hug. His words sunk deep, before landing and resonating on the bedrock of my soul. 

"Yes," I whispered, watching them, "I don't either."


	23. Allegro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...Liam smiled wide and waved as I departed down the hill, the house growing smaller behind me, until my only company was the waves crashing in the surf, distant. For once, it didn’t feel suffocating. I managed to recapture some of that once captivated curiosity, watching the waters not with fear but a smile...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allegro: _A brisk tempo_

It was a home, but not mine. No, my home was a distant place, never to be mine again. Home now was Tyrael. And thus, to Westmarch I would go. 

A few days passed, or perhaps a week. I spent the time regaining my senses, trying to piece together just what it meant to be mortal, gaining new breath in a life I hadn’t expected. It came easier with time, a confession I would tell Elijah one night as we watched the thrashing ocean, the waves keening and reaching up the cliff side, as if trying to beckon for my return, the sirens in the deep. Life in the little town of Brighton was peaceful, and had I been born differently, perhaps I’d have called it easy. Because, truly, it would have been easy, a humble life with humble beginning, no sorts of Eternal Conflict to mar the mind. Idyllic. Something the High Heavens never had, as entrenched in the war as they were, every building a battlement and every action tinged with tension. Here, I even found myself sitting, watching the boats as they dashed to and fro, little mortals in their lives.

It was a home. But not mine. It was a home for better souls, Elijah and Liam, Geoffrey and Celeste. My soul was one of agitation, or movement. Peace was not for me, or at the very least, not yet. I had to go to Westmarch, I had to find Tyrael. As the last of Wisdom, the last of Mathael’s most loyal, it was my task to deliver my repentance. So, to Westmarch I would go.

“I’m leaving,” I told Elijah, over a breakfast of toasted bread and fruit, Liam playing out in the grass and mud. Elijah set his glass down, looking at me. It was a look I’d become used to, when he tried to figure me out, the unravelable mystery of my being. But, as with every time, he simply nodded. This time, though, the nod was a little sad. Understanding. He was a man of the world, and he knew the restlessness of the soul of a soldier.

“I won’t stop you,” He said, going over to a door, rummaging around in the closet, “But,” And he pulled out a slightly aged sword, the steel still gleaming in the afternoon light that filtered through the windows, “Take this. It’ll give me peace of mind.”

I held my hands out, the sword placed in them. I closed my hands and my eyes, feeling the weight. It was a comfort. It was Tyrael, our times training in the grounds, of fighting and promising an eternity least we die apart. When I opened my eyes again, they had a steel to them, just like the sword.

“I’ll return victorious,” I stated, glancing out onto the horizon, towards where Westmarch would be.

“No,” Elijah stopped me. I paused, the rest of the phrase dead on my tongue, “Win or not, you can come back. None of that ‘or never return at all’.”

I smiled.

“You have my word,” My voice was solemn. That seemed to satisfy him.

“Go down to the market. They’ll give you some supplies for your journey,” He nodded. I rose an eyebrow.

“Why would they do that?” I asked. He smiled a little, but it was more of a well meaning grin, grizzled but mirthful.

“We take care of our soldiers here,” Elijah uncrossed his arms, patting my shoulder, “And, well...they know a soldier when they see one. Go. And don’t forget to say goodbye to Liam.”

My throat felt tighter as I nodded, but it was one of joy. Sorrow for having to leave, but it was with his blessing, and so I would leave, return with Tyrael to show him the people I had met, return to show them the one I lived for and my gratitude for keeping that life living. I strapped the sword to my side and stepped out of the house, the cotton of my clothes picking up in the breeze. Liam saw me and waved.

“Hey!” He jumped up, “Look, I found a lizard!” 

It was, indeed, a lizard. My lips quirked. But then, that smile dipped a little, the news weighing it down.

“Liam,” I began, stopping for a moment, “I have to leave. I...”

“I know.”

I blinked. But, Liam wasn’t looking at me. He was using a stick he found to draw circles in the dirt. I tilted my head slightly, but he continued, his expression surprisingly unreadable.

“You gotta leave. Pa did that once,” Liam finally looked over at me, but it was a sad sort of happy. Just like his dad, I noted distantly, “It’s okay. You’ll come back, right?”

It shouldn’t have felt so important, but it did. This child wanted my word, and I would give it to him. I kneeled down, looking him in the eyes, “I’ll come back,” I promised. He was young, but still had been a companion of mine, and I would not break my word if I could help it. Liam smiled at the assurance, and all trace of the man he’d become bled away, hard edges sanded into softness and an easy joy. 

“Okay.”

But, for good measure, he ambled over to me and gave me a hug. I returned it, before pulling back, feeling lighter than I had in an eternity.

“I’ll come back,” I said once more, standing up and stepping backwards. Liam smiled wide and waved as I departed down the hill, the house growing smaller behind me, until my only company was the waves crashing in the surf, distant. For once, it didn’t feel suffocating. I managed to recapture some of that once captivated curiosity, watching the waters not with fear but a smile. Though, perhaps just a little bit of fear. It was only natural, I supposed. By the time I reached the town proper, the shops were open and bustling, the townsfolk waving at me as I passed. To the market, where the vendors asked my plight, then piled me with bags of goods and supplies plenty. To the town square, where the people flocked to offer me praise and good luck, hoping for my return but praying for my safety, a whirl of names and smiles and such genuine things that the me of only a month ago would’ve fallen into a stupor. But, I prided myself in my growth, and I smiled back with equal genuine feeling. I was fully stocked with anything I’d need, even a horse of all things, when I approached the blacksmith shop. Geoffrey. I stepped into the shop, at Celeste at the counter. 

“You’re back!” She greeted, before peering at me, smiling secretly, “And you’re leaving, too. Can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

I liked Celeste, so I made my explanation, making sure to extend my promise to her as well. She stopped me.

“Before you go,” She dug out an envelope, “Could you deliver this to my daughter? She lives in Westmarch, but ever since that...business, I haven’t heard from her.”

I gently took the letter. It was addressed to...Egwein. Ah. 

“Of course,” I nodded, setting the letter away, “I met her, actually, when I was in Westmarch.”

“Oh!” Celeste lit up, “Were you stationed there?”

It wasn’t a lie, but it still felt like one as I said my affirmative, “Yes. She’s a strong person, I know she’ll be safe.”

No thanks to me. I remembered, flinchingly, the look of betrayal and rage she gave me when she’d found out. I’d make it up to her. I’d make it up to them all. Celeste might’ve noticed my sudden quiet, or maybe not, because she gestured for me to go to Geoffrey. He was still in the forge, the sounds of metal clanging and the wave of heat. I smiled.

“Hail, Geoffrey,” I had to shout about the noise. He stopped his hammering and looked up at me, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Took you long enough,” He hmpfed, but grinning, the barb without any sharpness. He picked up a pair of gauntlets, shiny and new, gleaming almost silver in the light, the golden flames of flame lighting the edges, “Here. Your armor.” 

I caught the gauntlets, surprised by the heft to them. As I strapped them on, it seemed to center me. I breathed easier, despite the weight.

“Thank you,” I turned, only to nearly get smacked in the face with a chest place. I caught it at the last second, and Geoffrey let out a wheezy laugh.

“It ain’t a full set of armor if it’s just gauntlets, is it?” He ignored my glare, or maybe chuckled it off again, letting me secure the chest place before he threw more heavy armor at my face. Cheeky. 

“You’re awfully happy to see me leave,” I only barely suppressed the urge to stick my tongue out. Liam was a bad influence.

“Of course I am,” Geoffrey snorted, pulling out a pair of leg guards and some boots, “You’ll finally stop bothering me when I’m working.”

That time, I didn’t even hesitate with my scowl, and Geoffrey had to dodge the coal I kicked at him. Once all my armor was in place, my sword at my side and my horse at the ready, I realized how fully relaxed I was. Mortal as I was, yet the emotions didn’t rule me. It was so refreshing, as if before I’d been muted and only now was awake. 

“Stay safe in Westmarch,” Geoffrey told me, serious again, “I don’t want your story to end like Saleem.”

“If the ocean couldn’t kill me, any lingering demons won’t stand a chance,” I replied. There was that ease again. Geoffrey patted my horse on the side.

“Tell my daughter I said hi,” Geoffrey stated, then added, “And that she needs to visit more. Bring that girlfriend of hers.”

My eyes softened, “I will.”

There was nothing else. I waved goodbye, before kicking the sides of my horse, and then I was off, riding down the cobblestone road out of Brighton, into the plains. Towards Westmarch. Brighton slowly disappeared behind me, the town on the cliff near the ocean, and I turned my thoughts north. To Tyrael.

“Until the breath of this corporeal frame and even the motion of our mortal blood is suspended, and we fall asleep, hand in hand, souls entertained eternal,” I began, the words familiar and etched into my soul, “A life made quiet by the power of eternity, the deep breath of forever we see into the life of things...”

And so I rode.


	24. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Say it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fine: _The End._

Westmarch crested the horizon. The steady clip clip of the horse I rode on, hooves on cobblestone beneath it, a soothing sound to my ears. The weight of my bags, laden with goods upon my back. I spared a yawn, brief and fleeting, as I watched the forests of the distance receed, replaced by cliffs and edging oceans, echoes of the deep that cried out to me. I didn’t even give it a passing glance. 

Westmarch crested the horizon. The city of spires, buildings of stone and wood. The walls that encased the city. But, that was where the pleasantries ended. Westmarch now was decrepit, a shadow of its former glory. The walls that once held it secure had proven its undoing, holes torn into it, the gates warped and corroded. Building of wood had gone up in flame long ago, leaving only husks, the ashes occasionally disturbed by the wind that stole through the city. Once tall spires were crumbled, caved in, destroyed. And the tallest tower of them all, in Westmarch Heights, towered over them all. A looming beacon of sorrow, of the remnants of my sins, dark and terrible, and to my eyes, still wreathed in phantom flames. If I squinted, I might be able to pretend that the flick of blue was Urzael, beckoning me towards him. But, the past was in the past now, and the breeze that blew past me was not winter anymore. I continued forward, my hands on the reins, the horse quiet beneath me.

Westmarch drew closer. I began to approach the gates, the same one from all of those years ago, and I felt a pang of melancholy in my heart. When Urzael and I were young, spirits fresh, exhuberated with innocence at the sights we believed we’d see. We were fools. But that was then, and this was now, and I shrugged off the weight of the recollections, focusing on the gates now in front of me. Two guards stood at the sides, maybe more in the towers. I gently yanked the reins, stilling the horse. 

“Halt!” A guard demanded, and so I did. Wrapped in cloth, baring armor, my face stern and a sword at my side, perhaps I looked frightening. It was not my aim, and I clumsily squashed the swell of pride at their terror. No. I was not that person anymore. 

“State your name,” The guard demanded. His partner hung back, observing me from the shade of the overhang. I lowered my head slightly, a sign of peace. Anu knew I had brought too much strife to this city, enough for a lifetime of repentance.

“I am Aerael,” I declared, then with less poise, “I’m here to aid the city.”

The guard moved to say something more, only for his partner to appear, stepping behind him. They whispered in his ear, and the front guard nodded, stepping aside. The other guard walked forward. Their, or rather, his armor was well-worn, and there was something familiar about him. The feeling became more pronounced, begging my attention, the shield on his back, his careful stance. But it was only when he took off his helmet that it all clicked. 

“Elric?” I startled. Suddenly, it felt as though all my breath had been ripped from my lungs, as if a hundred frozen daggers plunged ice into my veins. My hands gripped the reins like a lifeline. And all the while, Elric only continued to walk calmly forward, his helmet tucked under his arm, his face unreadable. All my bravado disappeared. I shuddered, and tried to resist the urge to hunch inwards, as if waiting for some unseen blow. Words, perhaps, as they could pierce like wounds could not. But, I was determined to take the punishment with as much poise as I could. I deserved whatever they would give. 

“Aerael,” Elric began, his voice as unreadable as his face. It was so perfectly neutral that it could only be an act, deliberate, and painstaking, “I’ll have to ask you to leave the horse outside. It will be cared for.”

I stepped off the horse without preamble, giving my animal companion one farewell pat. It leaned in to the motion, just in time for another guard to come and lead it away. I looked back at Elric. Even with his armor, I was still taller than him, and had to focus to ensure I did not become an overbearing presence. That didn’t stop Elric from staring at me in such a way that I felt...smaller. Weak. Afraid.

“Elric, I–“ I tried, only for Elric to stop me. He turned, gesturing for me to follow him. I complied.

“I’m taking them to the city center. Hold down the fort,” Elric stated to his guard partner. He received a salute of confirmation, before the gates were slowly opened. I let my eyes adjust, and even then, the sight still shocked me. It shouldn’t have. I should’ve expected the ruins, the charred remains of both building and human alike, the shattered glass, the pure and utter destruction that I had wrought. My head bowed in shame, and as the gates closed behind us, we were left alone, alone in the tomb of death that I had created. We only got a few paces forward before Elric stopped.

“Aerael...” Elric inhaled. I braved myself, be it for the bash of shield or the cut of truths, “...I’m sorry.”

A breath of silence, of confusion.

“Why are you apologizing?” My voice was quiet, almost trepidation. It gained some more momentum, tinted with anger, anger at myself, “This was my doing. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“I’d sooner blame a doctor for a natural death than a soldier following orders. And you didn’t even do that, did you?” Elric cut off my momentum, and I was left blinking, somewhat stunned. He continued, “I was angry at first. Not as bad as Egwein, but I thought you’d betrayed us. Then, I realized... you purposely lead us away from those monsters. You fought them, saved us countless times– without you we never would’ve made it to the church. And then, you sacrificed yourself for us; Twice!” 

Elric’s voice was full of heat, the things he’d held inside for long, too long, finally spilling out. I could only watch as he continued.

“The Death Maiden would’ve killed everyone in that church, Urzael would’ve killed everyone in that church. You laid your life down for us, and we forsook you,” Elric inhaled, voice softening, turning away, “We were told you’d died. Tyrael. That he killed you, and your last act was still protecting us... So, I tell you, I’m sorry. For everything, my friend.”

Silence reigned. Elric didn’t dare look at me, and I found my soul storming with conflicting emotions. He forgave me? My friend, my companion, the one I thought hated me till my dying breath...

“Elric... Thank you,” And then it was my turn to hug him. He let out a huff of surprise, but my face was red, my eyes stinging with moisture, like his, and we shared the embrace of two fellows, full of remorse for actions of the past. When we finally pulled away, I felt more at peace than I had in ages. 

“You mentioned Tyrael... are the others still here?” I asked, as we began walking again, among the decay and demolished, our armored steps echoing through the stillness. 

“Tyrael, Nadiya, Egwein– they’re all here. In the center, coordinating relief efforts,” Elric nodded firmly. A small, almost excited smile fought onto my lips, and I fumbled through my bag, until I pulled out the carefully store envelope from Celeste and Geoffrey. 

“I... was asked to deliver this to Egwein. From a friend.”

Elric eyed the letter in interest, “Brighton?”  
I have my affirmative. Elric laughed, a little sound, somewhat grizzled and wheezing.

“We’ll deliver it to her. Then, when everyone is together, you’ll have to tell us how you survived,” Elric decided. It was a friendly thing, like he was still shocked at my existence yet overwhelmed by the joy. My smile grew.

“It would be my honor.”

We continued through the rubble. Two old friends, trading stories, news, anything and everything inbetween. It was a comfort that I hadn’t had in a long while, just two soldiers, talking. We only stopped after some time, and that was because Elric pointed something out to me.

“There. I think that’s Nadiya and Balathar right there,” Elric gestured. I squinted, still not exactly accommodated to my mortal eyes. There were shapes, yes, but how could he tell so easily? 

“Why are they so far out?” I asked instead. 

“Likely gathering more supplies for potions. We’re only a five minute walk from the center,“ Elric explainer. Together, we approached them, and true to his words, I could see Nadiya come into view, next to Balathar. Nadiya, still pregnant, rummaged through some more ruined boxes, carefully extracting what she could and handing it over to Balathar, who was engrossed in some arcane tome. On his back, he had a bow and arrow, just in case. And, just like seeing Elric before, my heart jumped at the sight of them. But unlike Elric, the twist of fear came strong. Of shame. Nadiya had showed me hope, sorrowful compassion, as I seemingly betrayed her and her friends with Urzael. She was the only one to still have hope for me. I wondered if that still held strong. 

“Bal, do you think they’ll have any bitterroot in here?” Nadiya asked, “I could’ve sworn...”

“Nadiya, Balathar,” Elric called. They both stopped, though Balathar kept reading as Nadiya turned to see who it was.

“Elric!” She exclaimed, surprised yet delighted. She made it a few steps our way, though the distance wasn’t very long to begin with, only to stop once she caught sight of me. It took but a moment for her to recognize me, the sight of my bright hair, body wreathed in armor, my apprehensive gaze. Nadiya took one shaking step forward, then another, as if I was some ghostly apparition, destined to disappear if she got too close too quickly. Finally, only a step away from me, she spoke.

“Aerael?” Nadiya’s voice was as full of trepidation as her stance, and I wondered if it was fear she felt.

“Yes,” I confirmed. Nadiya’s head only reached up to my collarbone, but that didn’t stop her from rushing forward, tackling me with all her might, burying her face in the cloth that wrapped my armor, and wailing. The sound was loud and sharp, causing Balathar to whip around, dropping his book to the ground to try and fumble out his bow, only to stop just as suddenly when he saw what was happening. His face softened, a mix of shock but slight joy. Nadiya continued to hug me.

“You’re alive!” Nadiya exclaimed, as her tears dried up, and she broke away, grabbing Balathar and bringing him close to grip his hand and show him that I was here, “Aerael is alive,” Nadiya gestured, then took a moment to gather air back to herself. It didn’t exactly work, and she just ended up crying again, this time latching onto Balathar. Beside me, Elric waved to Balathar. Balathar looked somewhat awkward, but decided to explain.

“We... we were told you were dead. How are you here?” Balathar asked. I furrowed my brow somewhat. 

“Are you not mad at me?” I inquired, that their first question would be how I survived, not why, not rage. 

“Angry?” Balathar blinked, “Oh. Oh, no. I...You could say that I understand...why you acted that way. Defying orders is...” Balathar trailed off, before going onto something else before I could ask for clarification, “Never angry, though.”

Nadiya stopped crying again, drying her eyes with her sleeves, staring back to me, “How could I ever be mad at you? Without you, we would’ve never made it out of Westmarch Heights,” Nadiya patter her stomach once, thinking, “Though, now I’ll have to think of a different name for the baby. A memorial name doesn’t work when the person is still alive.”

I blinked, but Nadiya just smiled mischievously, some of her joy returning to her. 

“We’re making our way to the center. Would you care to come with us?” Elric finally spoke, having let me make my return without his interference. I murmured something with a smile.

“Of course!” Nadiya agreed, holding Balathar’s hand, “We can come back later.”

“Let me get my book,” Balathar shooed Nadiya off, going to retrieve his fallen book, and Nadiya continued to chatter.

“We’ll have to go find Mikhail when we get back. Oh, and Egwein. Then, you’ll tell us how you survived, right?” 

I nodded, only to pause, “If it’s not trouble, I think I’d like to see Tyrael first.”

Nadiya, now reunited with Balathar, clasped her free hand to her chest, “Of course. Ah, but Tyrael...”

“What? What’s wrong?” I suddenly felt incredibly anxious.

“When he returned without you...” Nadiya looked somewhat fearful. My eyes swiveled around, but no one in the group would meet my gaze. Except, of course, Elric. 

“Tyrael was inconsolable when he came back without you. He hasn’t left his coordinator tent since the day he returned,” Elric rumbled, “He’s alive, and he still helps us, but... the sooner you can go to him, the better.”

The pins and needles that stuck my back didn’t abate. Tyrael, forlorn? Tyrael was an unerring beacon, never one to allow tragedy to hold him back. But, if human... perhaps, perhaps it was bad. Very bad, indeed. 

“Let’s hurry,” I stated. Everyone nodded, and our pace quickened, the short distance becoming shorter with our hurrying steps. 

The city center came into view. I remembered it from before, but unlike then, this was now. The corpses were gone, the blood scrubbed away, loose cobblestones replaced or swept up. Though no stands still stood, it still held the bustle of life. Tents, everywhere I could look. And people too, rushing here and there, arms laden with goods or bags or various things. I could see children, giggling, playing despite the gloom that crept along the edge of the safe haven. Far ahead, the church stood tall, but unlike the center, it was still the same as if seen it last, the bridge still shattered in places where the fighting had become too much. I suddenly found myself searching for the crater I had caused, when I had been struck down, laid low, the site of my sins. It wasn’t there. A large tent, the largest one there, covered the area. I tilted my head.

“That’s the command tent. Tyrael is in there,” Elric explained. And just as suddenly, a new emotion appeared. That he would torture himself, at the place where I had turned, secluding himself at what might have been the epicenter of my downfall...

“Oh, Tyrael,” I murmured. Nadiya squeezed my hand. 

“Hey. I’ll be right back, we’re going to go find Mikhail,” Nadiya offered. I nodded, pulling myself out of whatever strange mood had claimed me. Balathar and Nadiya disappeared into the crowds, leaving me with Elric. And yet, I found myself rooted in place, unable to take the first steps to move forward to the tent.

“Come on,” Elric encouraged. I took a careful breaths and started towards it–

Slam.

Something ran into my side. I stumbled at first, expertly turning it into another action, preparing myself. And there, my assailant: Egwein.

“You!” Egwein barked, “You should be dead!”

“I’m not,” I replied, my frown deepening despite myself. To the side, I could see a crowd gathering, encircling us. Elric tried, in vain, to reach us, but was stopped by a wall of shoulders. 

“Did you sell us out? Find some other idiots to trick so you could live?” Egwein snapped. We’d begun circling one another, but swords had yet to be drawn. 

“My brother is dead. I am the only one left,” I offered, but still, felt the bitter twist of my mouth at the knowledge. That I should live when he died

“Leave,” Egwein demanded, stomping towards me. There was nowhere for me to go but where I stood, and I didn’t want to hurt her. Not anymore than I had. And so, I did the only thing I could think of: I yanked the letter out, and presented it, like a shield, a talisman. Egwein slowed her advance, and once she caught sight of the writing of her parents, she stopped entirely.

“Where’d you get this?” She barked. Her gaze wasn’t as dark as before, but lost, conflicted, the fires of rage becomes smothered somewhat. 

“Your family in Brighton,” I explained. Egwein grunted, opening the envelope and rapidly reading the contents. After the first glance through, her glare lessened. As she read it a second time, more carefully, the glare disappeared entirely. She still looked upset, but now it was directed at something else, not I. 

“Son of a bit– biscuit,” Egwein folded the letter back up, then looked at me, searching. After a moment, she sighed, “This isn’t over,” She reminded, but then, “But... later. We’ll talk later.”

“Where are you going?” I asked, as she broke away into the crowd.

“To find Kalila. Talk with your boyfriend, we’ll find you after,” Egwein shouted in reply, still making it sound vaguely like a threat. In a way, it was a comfort that not everyone so easily forgave me for what I did. And with her departure, so too did the crowd filter off, people turning back to their tasks and activities and no longer giving me a second thought. At the point, Elric finally burst in, looking around, only to find that it was over.

“First day back and you’re already fighting the populace,” Elric smiled, tired. I could see the relief he hid, though, that I was not hurt, or worse. I smiled back, but didn’t say anything further. There’d be time for that later.

“Mikhail says he’ll be coming shortly,” Nadiya said, somewhere off to the side. I nodded. But then, I realized, my fight had brought my towards the center of the area, and I was only a few steps away from the tent. Only a few steps away from Tyrael. My heart sputtered. But, as if by a force not my own, my legs began to move forward. 

“Is this...” I began, but Elric cut off my worries.

“We’ll be out here. Go,” Elric crossed his arms, assurance, before taking a spot outside the tent, to make sure we wouldn’t be disturbed. I sputtered out a ‘thank you’ as I continued towards the tent flap. the fabric touched my hands, and I realized I was shaking, pulling it up and gazing into the inside. After a moment, I stepped forward, letting the cloth flap fall closed behind me. 

The inside of the tent was darkened, not as bright as the outside, yet some lights filtered in from spots, warmth of some lanterns placed around. In the center was a large table, covered in papers, books, maps, and even equipment. A bedroll, in the corner. I couldn’t help but notice that the impact site I’d made was near the back, and empty space left purposely placed. But, even more demanding of my attention was the shape, back turned away from the door. Even in the darkness, I knew instantly who it was.

“Tyrael,” I whispered. Tyrael froze. Then, with the sort caution I might give to even a glimpse of a Butcher, he slowly turned. His eyes caught mine, and just like that, all the air left me. My throat felt stuck, and for the life of me, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Not that I wanted to. In this moment, I wished to exist forever, our souls calling out to one another, severed by time yet brought together once more. 

“Aerael,” He whispered, like a prayer. The table between us felt like a ravine, might as well have been an ocean. And yet, we paid it no mind, each of us stepping in turn to get closer to the other.

“You’re.... you’re alive...” He breathed, still staring deep in my eyes. Only a few breaths in between us now. I could feel the warmth from his armor, radiating, could see each individual scar on his skin, the deep pockets under his eyes. I rose my hand, breaking the minuscule distance to place it on the side of his neck. Under my hand, I could feel his pulse, racing, just as mine felt the same.

“I couldn’t leave you,” I confessed, my voice minuscule, yet still carrying. Tyrael placed a rough, trembling hand on my cheek. We remained silent for some time, just existing in the presence of each other.

“I thought you died,” Tyrael whispered. Slowly, he lowered his head to mind, until our foreheads met, “You died in my arms, my love.”

“No. Not in a million lifetimes would I leave you,” I replied, “I moved the Heavens and the Hells, just to be with you again.”

“You are mortal?” 

“In ever sense of the word.”

I could feel Tyrael’s gentle breaths on my face, each expanding inhale of air. Under sweat, I could sense the most faint tinge of lemon.

“Tyrael,” I whispered, tilting my head up, barely, “Do you remember what I said?”

“Every word you’ve ever spoke to me,” Tyrael murmured.

“Then tell it to me again,” Our lips were only a hair apart. 

“I love you,” He whispered.

“I love you too.”

Our lips met, an affectionate, warm embrace, soft and perfection, the years of longing and sorrow and loss all rolled into one kiss. It spoke of hope. It spoke of joy. 

It spoke of love.

 

 _Fléctere si néqueo súperos Acheronta movebo_ \- And if I cannot bend the will of the Heavens, then I shall move the Hells, for ye, my one true companion– my heart, my soul, my love.


	25. Ancora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...The front door opened, closed. The floorboards, creaking slightly under my weight, until I made my way to the writing desk in the corner. A quill and ink sat in one corner, paper at the center, and I was drawn to sit down, as if by some mysterious force. The quill went into my hand, dipped in ink, and as I stared at the paper... I decided that it was time to write...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ancora: _Encore. To play just a little more._

“Recruits! Attack formation!”

The sounds of training rung out through the grounds, bouncing across dirt and dropping off at the behest of echoing waves far away and below. Footfalls, made heavy by armored boots, the noise of swords ringing and shields clanging together. Then, gradually, it died down, and I eyed the recruits, observing them with a critical yet appraising gaze. 

“Good. Again,” I decided. The group released their stance, and did as told, while I stood back and watched. And I found myself... reminiscing. Against my better judgement, I decided that it was time for a break. I nodded to Tyrael and set back for our home.

The front door opened, closed. The floorboards, creaking slightly under my weight, until I made my way to the writing desk in the corner. A quill and ink sat in one corner, paper at the center, and I was drawn to sit down, as if by some mysterious force. The quill went into my hand, dipped in ink, and as I stared at the paper... I decided that it was time to write. 

Five weeks since the Fall of Westmarch. Five weeks since my death, and subsequent rebirth. Welcomed into the arms of my former comrades, with my eternal companion, Tyrael, to forever keep company with me. 

My first week of return had been spent with my friends, repairing the city of Westmarch as best I could, atoning for my mistakes once brick at a time. Over that week, I had grown closer than ever to my friends, as I told the story of my survival to them. Even moreso, I told them the tale of my life. How I had lived, fought, and died. Each turn and twist, from Pandemonium to Malthael’s cold gaze, made them more intrigued. Even Tyrael, my love, hadn’t known all that I was to say. Guilt knawed at my heart, but Tyrael quieted it instantly, assuring me that it was not my fault. In time, I learned to, tentatively, believe him. 

The week passed quickly. With restless work, the city was cleaned, the taint of corrupted energies dispelled. No remnants of the former angels remained, not even the faintest blood splatter on wood; all of it had disappeared with them. I was testament enough to that. Even then, try as I might, I found myself wondering if things couldn’t have been different. If, perhaps, I’d tried harder, that something could’ve been done, no tragedy to befall us. It was wishful thinking, but sometimes, I wished.

Soon, our time in Westmarch came to a close. We were no longer needed in the city proper, and though I wished to remain with my friends, I found the city chaffing on me. Even Tyrael confessed the same, as if some invisible blanket of discomfort had settled onto us, felt only by those of angelic descent. Thankfully, our comrades understood. It was time for them to begin rebuilding, and in a days time, the refugees that had fled a week ago would be returning. Tyrael and I weren’t ready to answer to them, at least not yet. And so, we said our goodbyes, but promised not to be far. After all, I’d been given an open invitation to return to Brighton when I wished, and now, I felt was the best time to do so. A real home, my soul murmured.

We shared a horse to reach the town. I showed Tyrael the sights along the way, the sprawling forests, the yawning cliffs and hungry ocean waves. In turn, Tyrael told me tales. He told me of the ten years he’d spent, mortal. He spoke to me of the things he’d seen, the people he met, the joyous and arduous mortal experiences that colored the soul. It was the slow symphony of life, one that I yearned to experience and hear for myself. And now, we had an entire lifetime to do it. We raced the horse the rest of the way, because now, there was a reason for being. A mortal life, where every second counted, every thing mattered: it was exhilarating. 

Brighton welcomed me back with open arms. Elijah and Liam, especially, the most glad of them all to see my return. I told them what had happened, after a round of embraces, and then tentatively I introduced Tyrael himself. Elijah scrutinized my companion, and for a brief moment I was terrified that he’d be rejected. But, then it passed, and Elijah gave a rare smile and told Tyrael that he’d better cherish me. Liam hung off my arm and laughed into the air, because I had left, yes, but now I was here to stay, the simple power of the joy of things. Tyrael too found himself... happy. And that was enough for me.

The rest of the weeks passed in a blur– though, a happy blur. Tyrael and I were given room at a house, and upon the town learning of Tyrael’s deeds, of the Horadrim, they give him the entire house on the spot. In turn, we repaid their kindness as best we could. We decided, after a fashion, to train some of them, using our techniques to give them the best education we could. A flurry of volunteers, eager to become the next Horadrim. Lorath, too, came to stay, having left Westmarch and come to Brighton to serve Tyrael once again. With our help, we would transform the soldiers into men, the protectors of the realm that they strived to be.

And now, I sit at my desk as I write this, tired, yet quietly pleased. More than a decade since the start of my story, how I had lived and died, angel to mortal. But for now, I must set my quill down, lemon scented memory. Perhaps one day I will pen the story of my beginning, but, now I must rest. Auriel is coming to visit soon, and Tyrael is calling me from outside...

My sins are wrought across my skin. They are burned deep, never to be healed, but through penance, I find them lighter. And now, as I end this tale, I look back at what I’ve done, and it is true: though I could not bend the will of the Heavens, I moved the Hells. Just, perhaps, to be with my love again. 

Sincerely, cordially, and forever yours,  
Aerael, (former) Angelic Lieutenant of Wisdom _Fléctere si néqueo súperos Acheronta movebo_


End file.
